Sound & Fury
––hands folded behind my head, awake at 2 am
on an old mattress
that will retain my form long after I rise.
I watch rain stagger down my window,
thinking it will soon shatter, and come down on me
water and glass––indiscernible.
Sometimes I think I want to see myself glitter
with such severity. Overhead,
the fan, unbalanced, strikes its base to the ceiling