Dogs do not like him.

The room chills upon his entrance

And water evaporates

If he stays long enough.

It is not for love

(Nor is it hate

For that matter) that these trances

Possess him. His skin

Only serves to contain the din

His nerves make; snapping, trans-

ferring urgent but contained

Currents from one end of

His body to the other. If a cat were to rub

Against his leg, it would create

Unknowingly, so enchanted,

A spark, so volatile and sudden

Its heart would stop and a hum

Like receding trains

Would pulse and vibrate

Where there had been organs and fluff.

Outside, thunder gathers above

Like angels grating

Their eyes in their sockets. A trace

Of ammonia fills the room. Something surely will happen.