arcane matter out of place

It was a pain in the arm

that sharp woke me,

the taste of night tin

in the hollow of my throat.

I had shelled out my tokens,

and death

was undressing to the nines.

Fighting off the porno of dreams,

I fell from some sky

into the me-shaped orgy

of a wallowed mattress,

a tribute to erotic ice sculpture.

There were financial fears

and communications about aspirin.

The panic passed, but I moved

as if read by a laser beam

powered by the sun,

and I saw through my eyes

the measured terror

of a borrowed daylight.