Storms

I’ve been sweating again, a symptom

so far only of itself just as those stray

explosions belong to no holiday,

no larger sequence of battle. Years ago

in another house, I’d wake like this

and stalk the other rooms, naked and

monstrously alive as if a thousand ears

had sprung from my skin. Sometimes

back in bed, a woman would be sobbing hard,

hiccuping, so I’d get a glass of water

that would harp the walls, get the pills

from her purse, stroke her until they worked.

Other nights she’d be waiting,

wetting herself with her hand and rapidly

we’d fuck, panting like harnessed dogs

who didn’t know miles ago their master

had frozen in the sled. Stop? No one

can stop. It starts out Wednesday then

it’s Tuesday and you’re sitting with A

in a café under some ornamental masks.

She’s disturbed. You’re disturbed.

A whole cloudburst of disturbance.

Inside the purple mask, there’re more feathers,

each with a quill directed inward, against

the face. Awful to be in it as well as

outside of it, hooting with fear. Will A

stay with B and is B’s cancer-ruddled mother

choosing this moment to die, can anyone

actually choose a moment to die, choose

to die at all and what is a moment anyway

but a thing made entirely of its own vanishing?

It all gets complex fast. You’re just

sitting there, nodding, then BOOM, the temple’s

in ruins and the emperor has you up at dawn

beating the ocean with chains. I wonder

if C will ever forgive me and will D ever

pick up his phone? Then the dream of the sun.

Then the dream of the black dogs and

saying yes in the desert. There were those

masks on the terrified wall. Maybe she should go.

Maybe I should explain. When the fire next door

is out, the firemen loiter and smoke in the rain.

Who hasn’t wanted to be a fireman

in a rubber raincoat, everything ash and hissing?

In the rain she decided to leave him

and in the rain she decided to go back.

Such friendships and fires. Such lies

and masks and love. I’ve only myself to blame.

In the rain we were singing. In the rain

I am empty, I am stuck. In the rain

I am pilfering and wanton and struck.