Raver in the bathroom

in this hot throbbing bright box full of angels

the pharmasonic frisson of towering bass timbre and MDMA

gives way to that old base reminder so soldier

head to the head nearest the dance floor

kick open the door sweep for tweakers and random grue

if the floor floods no deeper than house then maybe you can even

the closing door damps the dub and you wade in watch

your step on the tile wonder what bug you contracted or can catch

hitch up your fat pants

that impractical fabric tub you bob about the party in

to keep the cuffs from sucking up what liquid funk

Pollocks the floor dank with vectors

the rave bathroom tests you to reckon how feckless

the pill and the pot and the tab have rendered you

how according to your hyperactive amygdala

any of a myriad missteps means exposure or even death

judge which urinal seems most commodious to staying

sanitary and station yourself past the splash zone

aim at one point an ice cube a hole a thrown roach

in the adjacent urinal a wet cellphone hums and waits for rust

great now a chatty doppelgänger two urinals over

dogs your relief rehashes the urban mythic nonscience

that metabolizing molly drains your spinal pith

whatever he says you just softeye his facial all skeletal

turn to the sink hope for hot water or at least soap

confront only one working tap cold and left running

all the soap dispensers yawn vandalized and depleted

but you find paper towels miraculously still dry

draw the brittle bottle from your pocket to refill it

don’t let it touch the spittoon sink or rust-rimed faucet

as it fills face your sweat-drenched mug in the glass

your pupils open vast caverns in the corneas’ red mesas

all the mammal vapour every body in this greenhouse offgasses

fogs the mirror in a glaze of glyphs or

roric Rorschachs ghosting the misty glass

letters names slurs curses smudged by cursive digits

driven to delirious scrivening by deals or other demons

evaporating articulations attest S+J or RUN DNB

or kill me now or just an Ozymandian name say Mendoza

the mirror maps you a palimpsest of scribbles and secretions

trip on your own gaze and apprehend this is the dose that will do for you

but until then you still have to carry water and remember the steps

and stretch a convincing face over the knot of skewed drives comprising you

and repeat these trips as infrequently as possible

an earful of tough naifs bursts into the bathroom

exit just as they enter and earn bonus points for not touching the door handle

one turns as you pass and his gaunt pallor shocks you but this is another mirror

ask yourself again what have you got what death have you caught

the crew pulls plastic packets from socks crotches and knitted coifs

they all pile into one highly suspect stall

after midnight the rave bathroom slips fast

from modern amenity into medieval miasma

bounce on beat out to the big room where you

let your cuffs scuff and spread whatever biohazard you now host

infecting all the tuned-in turned-on so-called humans

who turned up here to build a city for a night