Symptoms (Poetry)

It’s not as though I’m unaware
of what is happening —
I feel each wave — each rush and surge
the two-up two-down of my blood’s raw house
is echoing with tides —
the highs and lows
and all the time a bell
is ringing — ringing in my ears
warning I could drown
but no one hears.

The rivers of my brain
are flowing deep and wide —
bloated by the unexpected rain —
the records show the level’s near to flood
the wallpaper inside
already damp and peeling
hair is seaweed hanging on the skull’s outside wall
skin prickles — ages — sags — changes tone
old rocks wear thin — layers paring down
to shiny knuckle bone.

And what was sea — and what was sky
runs blurred in hours lost to pain
and the ebb and flow of sleep —
a dream of beacons lit on high and lonely cliffs
broken when the current drags me deep
and the rollers sweep all reason from the beach
I am my own small lifeboat drifting out
where sun burns like a light bulb through a veil
and fog horn voices blend into a gale
for weathering — half-wrecked — I float again.