Siri, Where is My Mind

Climbing stairs
my feet aren’t even beneath me
I am arguing with someone, or counting money.

I wash a cup
the suds don’t touch me
my hands are where they will be, upon her body.

I speak
claiming to be present
my own intentions in the shadows, hiding from me.

In the latrine
I pinch out two tiny turds
and deliver a rousing speech to a vast assembly.

This mind of mine
quite the mind of its own
it runs around like a damned unfaithful lover.

Amok with ideas
like intrigue in a house divided
will I even be here when they turn and cut my throat?