The day funereal.

The heavy sky sees me elsewhere -

buried deep within the hospital's antiseptic bowels.

This morning I seized; something strong, something wrong.

I reached to you to no avail.

Anyway, what reassurance could you give?

The heavy boom has swung - I knew you'd let it -

the awful weight of me the eidetec - and you call this a gift.

I rang, knowing the line would be dead.

Me, you, lost in the ether.

I am utterly pre-occupied; seizing in the moment,

sending a brief s.o.s. through the wires, half expecting your response,

the other half praying; a supplicant kneeling, desperately lighting candles.

That strength you say you have - are you tapping it now?

Would you lend me your hand again?

At 4:46 in Boston I sink heavy.

A regular would-be could-be suicide,

pockets full of stones,

gutters full of rain.