Infectious cravings strike,
Day by day materializing,
Away from purity and humanity,
Somewhere, infatuating over labels and glamour,
Does it matter that people are dying?
Silent echoes of the wind swirl pass,
It's the shop's they are gathered around-
Where you hear only people engage and sounds of clitter clatter.

I've lived in the eye of
the storm, looking
west always
watching for
the clouds to
roll in like fat fingers

the ears attuned to
the sound of
thunder

nostrils flaring like some
wild animal waiting
for the cordite smell of
negative ions

tasting blood as my
jaws clench on my tongue

feeling the wind anticipating
the abrasive whip of sand
as it picks up


it's 6:30 am and for some
reason I
look east

the clouds
to my
eyes are great sponges
soaking up the color
of angular light

sleepy birds twitter

i smell the desert's
perfume as she dolls
herself up for
her ardent admirer

del Sol

my mouth
is full of
bittersweet coffee

I can feel no wind at all.



the night's as black as coal
out west...


... and yet there's still morning.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/9/2017