home | | | | | |archive | | | | | |profile | | | | | |notes | | | | | |previous | | | | | |next


I save a patch of weather. I attempt to plug the hole in my chest. I drink the sun away. I dine alone in an empty restaurant. Everyone I knew went away. I can't stop shaking. Things will be better when the last light drains from the window. My chest still hurts. The weather is shaking. I drink the weather away. Weather follows the people I used to know. I don't mind the shaking if there are blankets and darkness. I hold my breath--and the hole in my chest--walking through a long midnight of churches and casinos. The hospital in the fog. I follow a nurse into the afterlife. My cheek pressed against her thigh. Pills in her hand. Lipstick under her surgical mask. My father's voice reciting launch codes over the ham radio. I fall, shaking, into a long sleep. The hole in my chest shaped like a spiral staircase.

previous | next