In One Year and Out the Other

I look for clues,
wear scotch tape pajamas
in a limousine all the way
to the couch. I feel solid.
I mean, when I whack my hand
against the desk, I feel solid,
have a body, do ache. It's nice
to know that someone I'll never
know will tell you when I'm bleeding.
I can't breathe with your hand
over my mouth, I say.