The rain holds my feet
back and
sideways
before the door.
Then I
		step
along modestly wet
cement.

We eat Wendy's as two
naked comedians.
Raucous with ourselves
and wary of the audience.
Still, I
		fear
that my next joke may break
like this fry.

Unraveling my body
over and beyond the bed,
I sedate the motion
with little red pills.
I will
		sleep
despite ghosts at the door
tonight.

Crashing my limbs in the embrace
of your afternoon bed,
I try to dream past
the night before.
Then a dreamless sleep
where the world bleeds through me
as an approaching terror
and redeeming verse.
I sit at the edge of the bed
and hesitate to walk
on the thousand flames
stealing the carpet.
		I step
regardless,
as a body with its soul.