I wanted this to be more haunting than it was

This sickness is an angry pinwheel on the back porch,
the hissing of pipes in the basement,
a shivering window in the night.

The bright gray gets sucked up by hanging rain
converts light into fog
and fog into conversation.
Words get sticky and you have missed your puddle
the conversation bus stops
beeps incessantly,
lets out the air,
echoes out an empty destination,
in a voice rehearsed every 28 minutes.

Mouths snore into another subject
and that rain just won't come down like it's supposed to
like a bushy-tailed spiral feeling
or a transient raccoon scuttling under the porch.
The air is hissing like so many suspended waterways
and the glass gatekeepers sigh
refusing to let the wind break.

ill

the mortar is melting
and bricks are sliding down my brain.
There is disaster leaking out the mouth
black lines collapsing out of the parallel.
It's all about perspective
and this sickness draws its fingers in front of my face
crossing my eyes into a dizzy blinking braid.

fell sick again

& even through the sudgedly illness
my skin & stomach are filled with nervous ampersands,
their curves making a trampoline of my belly.

Is this awkward?
-what it is to feel caught?
I always thought it would be softer than this
(wholer than alone).

Every face blurs in and out of possible recognition.
Certainty has found the end of its extension cord
& my unknowing pulses out the door
-oozes violent from the windowcracks.

There is a torn-open sky
exploding possibilities.
I might know you,
find you
& fill your rubber boots with meaning.
Souls, black with coffee breath
break open my lungs and skull
filling me up so fast
(like an unforgiving run-on sentence)
& all I can do is sit stunned
& grab the squiggled end of every ampersand.