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