I sit on the floor
and wait for the migraine to
move across my brain
like a towering seventy-five thousand foot thunder-head.
I feel the high pressure system
move against the base of my skull
causing a one hundred percent chance of a
scattering of showers of pain in my head
and jagged streaks of lightning
throughout my temporal lobes.
I wash down four Darvocets
with half a bottle of red wine
and lay back; black-faced in my mind
waiting for the storm to break.
It comes in thunderclaps and
forked flashings of blinding blue-white fire
situated deep somewhere
behind my left ear, and behind my eyes.
I lie on the floor.
Wind gusts of nausea
registering eighty some odd miles an hour
sweep over me, uprooting my viscera.
The high voltage pyrotechnics
inside my skull shine red
against my eyelids.
In a few hours which last for weeks
the storm is over and
is replaced with calm.
MIGRAINE
