Waking Rude

Someone tossed the brain

of Robert Rauschenberg.

I found it in the dumpster

back of Happy Donuts

in a box of day-old glazed.

Through the specky window I can see
the minister of quantum gravity

draw the grand map of an explosion

in process on the back

of a napkin.

I sleep in pieces

like a moon.

Everyone has a ghost point.

You just have to find where it is.

Loan me some light til I get on my feet.