I leave my name at home when I go out in crowds

Some days I approximate a vacant lot.
Instead of fire I have a face—a solid
slow-flowing, a target's white and heart
and near unhittable. There is no heat
or wavelength of radiance to reach me
in my assemblage of bones, this scaffold
that props me upright and adult. I leave
my name at home when I go out in crowds,
swallowing my blank, untutored tongue.
Some lies light, others shadow. My right hand shuns
the left, vocal cords divorce the lungs,
nerve endings split from the spine. From no one
nothing can be taken. I swear,
there's someone home, but I don't own her.

[Courtney Queeney {1978- }, 'The Anti-Leading Lady Dissociates', from Filibuster to Delay a Kiss]