What clouds do to me...
or maybe my sudden sobriety...
or maybe the acute, frigid stab of air
or the same street after street after street

or maybe the gunshot
bleeding out
over sheets, and two morons useless
in the next room: trapped
and dying -- dammit, stem the flow

I want to feel
the burn of ice and
heat in my gut -- anything

to subtract from where
I spill all over the carpet.