horizontal rain

Gravity's growing giddy again and everything's falling down. coins weaving through pockets and liquids through lips. screws turn loose and wiggle free with a crash of pictures and mechanical parts. I stumble every fourth step and find it near impossible to peal myself from the pillow in the morning. The moon pulling oppressive on personal tides, 80 percent drained. The faucet won't stop leaking, all the buttons stopped working too, the ones marked print, record, wake up, and stand here to teleport are the most finicky. No matter when I set my alarm for I wake to it flashing an untimely midnight and trip several times to get it set straight. It all seems so trivial, a slight technical failure of physical laws, which were never more than hypothetic suggestions to begin with. Could chalk it up to clumsiness or human error, but how many chipped plates fly crumbling from clenched grip does it take before some other force of failure becomes evident?

[edit- oh, the moon is really almost full right now, and huge in the night sky. No wonder]