"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The Concussion.

Pull me from
this concussive state.
I can't see straight
I don't want to
and I won't look you
in the eye,
because when I do
I see trails of smoke
a fading line
of what we used to be.
I see stars
spangled and caught
row on row in symmetry
and I'm lost in it all
and my head pounds.
It still pounds.

3 comments:

"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."