While Rachel slept lost in twisted sheets, I fixed myself a drink. I sat outside for an hour to breathe cigarette smoke -- my mind on the brink. All my time spent with couples, my wanderings tamed for privacy fences-- a third wheel in groups of four rubble, am I *****, prophet, poet or menace? I thought as the stars coughed across the acidic sky; I wish for a spark to ignite-- the powder trail of ambition I lost in swampy suburban repetition cries. On the steps of my porch, I felt no God. In the arms of worship or between a lover's thighs, no sanctity, nor blessing, just scattered dirt clods-- I miss the old ignorance -- kept my heart from whys. But now those same whys taunt and entice. A supreme darkness surrounds me-- one my eyes have adjusted to-- one my justifications turn free-- leaving me hungry for new dark territories and the kind of knowledge that never lets you sleep.