Monday, June 22, 2015

secret messages.

things naked, baring themselves as an
act of bravery,
i have a migraine. i am
at home.
but the walls strip themselves and
the cloud over my head, tumultuous
as ever,

spurts its yellow, exacting electricity.
i've never been one for umbrellas.

in the face of royalty, i am; i am inside
of myself,

a blank landscape, unoccupied;
something unborn.

something to become a desert-
that mouth of sand.