Nostophobia - April 6

I was afraid that it would be different,
or maybe that it would be the same.
If it was the same, then I would feel that terrible feeling I felt before I left,
but if it was different…

If it was different, then what would I have left?
What Penelope, now woven, would hold me in her womb?
Some colden stranger, some stretched and mutant view
like a tattoo on some fat man’s gut,
who once was a trimcut athlete.

But if it was the same?
Oh, fear of failure:
Older, emptier, still scraping around
telling stories of wilting cocoons,
and the dreams of last year have come and have gone,
clouding over like waning moons.

Forgive me
all those steps were soft as velvet inside of my belly
so sweet
and so cold