vicarious

rain licks its
lips on
the pane.

splinters
in my floor are
dandelions in

this storm.
an old man
and his new cane.

half asleep
in the black maw
of a half dreamt

demon. red
alarm blurs and
howling

when i wake.
death fasts in the sun
and one

of these nights i’ll
be aromatic. old
man smells like a cooked steak.