The bone dry
hand of stone cutter
works away.
The clink
of metal on stone,
scraping,
dull and full,
How many strikes have they laid
trying to form a new passage?
Humans taking up the work
nature left unfinished.
But they might disagree
saying nature did the hard work
bringing the stone to this point
from a miles deep furnace
and all they’re doing
is hitting a stone.

Like sparkling water, your breath punctuates every gulp—
Sharp and cold, I come back for more,
At your behest—like saffroned ice cubes on the eyelids.
A sober delight.

Scrubbing the grout in between the tiles with black salts,
Pale like drying sunscreen, piercing my palate with cedar—
Where did the subtlety go?

I came
to the conclusion
one line at a time
tripping off
commas that
I thought
left me breathless
but turned out
they were
*******
the life
out of
me

My swollen left cheek
a round bed of marshmallows
pat pat, pat pat, boing!

swallows saliva
drinks a cup of iced milo
an oasis forms

all that ice a shock
to my newly-formed blood clot;
what is this soreness

Where have you gone, words?
She vanished like vapour;
No longer lingers like a whisper from my perception, but she girds
Them. She used to pour out endlessly,
flowing like a babbling brook.
Now, dry, like the earth before conception. 
Parched, she sits desolately,
Crying out Spirit fill anew!

My throat's a cracked desert, a canyon so dry,
My heart's a lone tumbleweed, blown 'cross the sky.
My love turned to dust, like a wish swept away,
Leaving me empty, and oh, so parched today.

I reach for a bottle, its promise so sweet,
But the fire it brings offers only deceit.
It burns and it bites, yet the hurt lingers on,
My spirit cries out, for a love that is gone.

I'm trapped in this whirlwind, a spiraling fall,
Each sip that I take leaves me weaker and small.
The ache in my soul, a deep, endless sigh,
And the world spins around me, as I echo, "Bone dry."

Petals of  dried flower  
Lay fallen dry and dull ...
Happy fragrance sent around
On glorious colourful days
Fades from memory..
As  songs loses its words
And words loses its music...
And trying to hear the unsung song
I feel fallen....
With no glorious past
Or colourful future!!

I was woken up by a nightmare.
I woke up in the middle of the night
when I had fallen asleep
and a poem was finished.
The silence makes the painting 
in the air I breathe,
feel heavy, feel suffocating.
My throat is dry.
And on such a thirsty night,
a poem ordered an inkbox
and a piece of paper,
and I ordered a bottle of beer
and a cigarette and also a lighter,
and night ordered

itself for me.