HIGH AND DRY—BUT WELL-LUBRICATED BY WIT AND WONDER!
I fear my nebular shadows might taint the stillness of white clouds
The parched troposphere is parching my humid breath, my humid body
Suspended in the air
A borehole is running out of fluid
I hear the music of pendulum galloping
tearing used papers, scratching empty walls
whispering I couldn’t write no more
My stagnant hands seek through the clamor for clarity
I sniff my hazes, I sniff my sobs
Is that what you really want?
They say to me
My glare screams and breaks the concrete silence
The clock detonates, spewing time spewing incarcerated words
spewing pieces of myself
Like a newborn’s howl as it enters life,
declaring the world that it is alive
Surging in the chasms of every pallid day, of every pallid life
For I am a newborn now, howling to the moon of its darkness & light
A quickie poem for such a high and…
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