30:30 2014, Day 24

Porno Sex Addict Rocks New York

Someone's been smoking

in Incident Command, the room

built for leaders when a plane

crashes in the sound, or a named

storm batters us. The awful

decisions are made here, the prickly

racetrack of triage. You could live

in here for three unwindowed days.

It does nothing without disaster.

By the ash I am certain too love-

crutched clinicians fuck here on

the overnight. Privacy is the vacuum

of safety's ache to be filled

with risk. It's why the desert burns.

When I see the stillness that calls

to poets, the quiet sea of mercury

keening to be disturbed, I want

to dip my balls in it.