Originally posted 2/15/2010.

In denial
of the wet shine
of ice on the steps,

I slip before I can
prepare myself for the
hazardous surface underfoot.

When my head
cracks into
the porch floor

there are suddenly midday stars
shining for my eyes only.  Novas
of sick burst in my throat.

I am suddenly myself a universe
born of my mistake and my arrogance.
In the dizziness that follows I wonder

if this internal possession
of a galaxy or two of pain
and derangement might make me a god?

Nope. I’m just another schmuck, flat on my back
on the stairs, my bleeding head
resting on the floor of my porch,

yet still I fantasize about power and glory,
the constellation of injury
provoking delusions.

Inside, comets and violet
energy. Outside, blood congealing
in the sharp air

of February.
Between them,
a foolish man

trying to shake it off
before freezing
in place.