Landscape w/ the Fall of Somebody

I woke to the windowpane, licked
by rain. Busied in the tedious exit of dreams,
I first failed to separate his noises from
the spattering of weather and walls.

But I could taste thirst -
air worn thin like the inside of a balloon.
In my dumb coarseness
I felt a trembling from the formless above,
And then knew the panting of a shrunken mouth carried
through faint and quieter seconds.

Why was it born
here in the belly outside of its desire -
Pissing blood and swollen
against the floor, dry heaving
in the eyes, senseless from a dead gain?
Hungry ghost

one hundred ears made
For drips not drunk,
For water spent over my roof
under the spell of his old itch -
The moon-burnt and skinned old thing
it hurts to pity.