and spin into lines that make sense
in this fevered moment, but will later
read as the impassioned words of another –
madman, prophet, troubled soul, friend, lover, murderer.
Waking in a feverish afternoon and thinking,
“It’s much too early to get up.”
Realizing the sun is somehow now misplaced,
rising in the west, I weakly stand.
I’m a sundial gnomon. My shadow warped.