These god damned fever dreams coming at night, at naps. Lately I’m beached at dusk, briny coastal fog helping the sun get spent, while I’m eaten alive by a blackened, scabby whale’s liver. And ambergris – word from a dream – a putrid smell strong enough to be there when I wake. Unless that’s just me now, rotting from the inside out. Diagnosis prognosis hypnosis, waking is a kind of psychosis where I learn that I can’t see much of anything and then find out that I wish I really couldn’t. Half-blind is normal enough with my lazy left eye doing what it wants, but on a hungover morning with both eyes gooey and gluey from whatever it is in the booze or the body or both that does that, the only thing I can really do is cover that wandering oculus with a grimy hand and look around from my sticky naugahyde bed for whatever in the hell is making those noises. “I’m going to take this,” someone says and I wonder if I had asked anyone over. The smell is normal the hell is normal the visitor is not. I kind of fall up off the couch and plod pigeon toed – why is hockey on the TV in August – across my tiny living room. There he is in my kitchen taking things and stacking them on the table while I let the doorway hold me up. A conspicuous lily sits his lapel and whispers up at him. He grabs a picture off the empty, buzzing fridge and doesn’t ask who it is because I guess he knows and says as much: “Your mother. Homely, and your freckles are a tether to her.” He cocks an ear to the lily and tucks the polaroid into his coat in a pocket with my toothbrush. Beyond his bony shoulder my pills – due for a dose – stand soldiered between inert oven coils and I worry over having to shimmy past him to get to the orange bottles. Socks on linoleum, a sweaty, graceless glide through six feet of fear that he doesn’t even notice. I push down and turn and ask “Are you taking my dictionary?” The fridge stops buzzing. The Bruins score in the living room. Over the mute bay a fog horn gives its bovine low. In place of an answer comes an unexpected correction: “Those are your morning pills you’ll need the others now.” I know they are I just woke up – but I’ll be damned if it isn’t umbrella black outside the fire escape.