Cowbells & cobwebs!

Migraine

is a small, cold, grasping death;

everybody becomes irritating,

you yourself just guesswork

It's a blessing when it's raining

and gets cold;

the sound intense but even

I need to leave everyone

and retreat to the sewage

or the mountains

I know I'm postponing life

at this halfway house,

this either or

choked

at neither nor

Scotomas cover the stormy sky,

black Gustave Doré angels falling like soot

Between the nodes I sleep

on the rail,

dream-infested

Between needs

I pour strange sensations out of my sordid sentience,

over cut-up thoughts and back-street building blocks,

over un-even anger and butchers' knives

on street corners,

blaring SUMATRIPTAN neon signs

above the swinging saloon doors