Monday, November 28, 2005
Wasteland
Wasteland
The solitude wears on me
This mundane chained to Wheels of Time
I feel like I'm breathing clay.
Now I know true thirst.
Cracks form around my eyes
As I squint into the horizon.
I can taste yellow.
Why can I taste yellow?
Sand whips into the crease of my mouth.
As I stand above my carcass
Watch the carrion birds make short
Work of my brittle bones
This dust-bowl
Tries to consume. . .
To extract your soul
In its marionette's pose
But they will never get it
No, no they will not
They are too late
For I gave it freely
To another
In this wasteland...
