Self Indulgent

i would gladly offer up

my right arm to feel
content, wanted, loved
born of something other then my own
self indulgent melancholy
i ache for human touch and yet
shun all

who attempt a connection
distilled
having been filtered through

too many layers
having lost the relevance
in all the sediment and sand
time has been an enemy for too many
years and all my fears
are rising like ash from

a now active volcano to the surface of my life
floating like waterbugs with their

spindly legs the pond is murky
even i cannot tell you
what lies beneath