They are so tired of searching for that coin
in the gravel. Every child has enough dreams.
But searching in the gravel is sometimes tiring—
a kind of an amorphous gesturing.

Before their psyches scarred,
still, they must scar the ground,
& muckrake the abysmal sand
to find a clue.

[Their faces       tainted w/ dust.]

If only they could find the clue
inside this flummoxing fabric.

That coin for them is
a fortune.

Withering Heights

Atop the oak tree
leaves were swaying
in a carnival-like ritual.
They fell down on the ground
& withered— a banquet for ants.
Ants just said, Oh, my God!
Even those on top
are not immune
from withering
and falling.

a new top model

This is a new top model stretching out the long
black sleeves of her dress on the podium of
the inky sky.
[What a wintry midday!]
Though fainéant, the sun has nothing to do but
breathe down the neck of the inky sky, while
pointing at me w/ her scintillant black-varnished
nails—ants scathing my skin.
[What a wintry midday!]
The top model’s eyelashes have nothing to do but
whishper black shadows—victuals for my hungry
inkwell.

A Place/bo

The desert is a place
where creatures are
submerged by its endless
waves.

The desert is a placebo
reinforcing impatient
creatures.

Waves & dunes
abound—life’s
fluctuations.

When our feet sink
into the sand,
must give us might—
a steroid invigorating
our sinews/
an exercise to bear
the stings of scorpions/
Time.

The missing s in desert
is a placebo
for weak hearts/
a dessert clean[sin]g
our limitations,
& limitation is not
but a version
of a sin.