I left my body somewhere on the highway between the exits,
I filed the report but nobody in the bureau accepts it,
I am operating from approximately here,
close enough to function, far enough that nothing is clear.
The woman at the coffee shop said have a lovely morning,
and I watched myself respond without receiving any warning,
the words came out correctly and my face arranged correctly,
but I was watching from somewhere above and indirectly.
Dissociation station, next stop unknown,
the body going through its paces, living on its own,
I am checking from a distance, I will reconnect sometime,
the train left without me but the schedule reads on time.
It happens most in meetings, in the mandatory cheer
of group participation, in the clarifying veneer
of social interaction, I perform it without friction,
the body knows its lines, I watch it with conviction.
I asked the people who are close to me if they can tell,
they say I seem a little quiet but they seem to feel well
enough about the answer, take the answer at its face,
which tells me that the body runs the social interface
without me needing to be present in a way that shows,
the automation is good enough, the presentation goes,
and I will not raise the topic of where I actually am,
I keep watching from the mezzanine like a diagram.
I tracked the triggers and the weather patterns of the state:
fluorescent light, high-stakes performance, running very late,
the residue of conflict or the opposite, long quiet,
the body keeping itself busy while the self goes riot.
The doctor asks if I feel safe and I say yes with honesty,
not in danger but in distance, in the modesty
of presence, and I cannot explain the difference to a form,
so dissociation station has become my working norm.