Updated: Sep 23
somewhere in the desert, words bleed
out of my pockets like raindrops &
disappear; there is no water left.
too much steel, not enough flint,
a heat that itches & unpacks itself as
grit inside my throat—i am overgrown,
with silence. there sits the lip where
the sand meets the sea, that dream
masterpiece—they are all calling for it.
well, i’ll be gone: uncovering the bones
that are left, i wind up, chase after
my thirst, fragment into a spark of
struggling light—& i wait, i’ll keep
waiting, for the emptiness to ignite,
the shore to let me
take a sip.