Four days in bed, retching
up memories. The downpour,
I thought, would cleanse me.
But life is not a movie,
and the drought begets floods.
Condemnation, not clarity.
Chemicals in quantities cautioned against,
"Vision quest," I say, fungus blooming
by the moment. "No bad trips," I say,
your body next to mine like a neon light,
flickering into butterflies and flying away.
It's cheap (it always is) and fleeting.
I hold my hand up to the rain.
I watch the lightning slice the sky.