Trip Down

Heavy, unkind medication
and waking sleeplessness
impale a man on the preying sunrise.

There is some tittering madness,
a surplus of twisted grey yang,
scrambling the balance of the truly cross
as you watch your still hand move,
riding your veins with the confidence
that only you can be maintaining
flat trajectory in a storm.


You wait for transparent correspondence
to arrive from particularly vague lands.
You expect it like a virus;
inevitable and invisibly subtle.