Next door a rooster inscribeshis cry on the living cosmos.Overnight my hair has becomea nest of aluminum foilto short out government broadcastsintended to singe my brain.I dreamed of taking the busto the Bronx and getting lostamong tall brick apartmentsthat observed me with disdain.A plump and eager womancame along to sing to mein rooster cries so metallicthey scorched me stupid enoughto lose my bus fare and strandmyself in a neighborhood facingthe Hudson River, steamywith summer evening mist.The plump woman abandoned meand I awoke in a dazzle of stars.Today a thunderstorm will bulkthe horizon and threaten mewith a personal thrust of lightningstraight out of the Aeneid.My aluminum hair will drawmore voltage than the Hoover Damgenerates with massive turbines.The government will broadcastnews of my illumination,which will gratify the Vatican.The plump woman will rise fromher own dream of the Bronxand try to remember the nameof that fellow she met on the bus.Before the thunder unfoldsI’ll shower, shave, and breakfastin tones so muted the roosterwill go back to sleep, and maybethe oncoming storm will greetmy humble stance with pity.