the poet's drought of a mind
trickles like dried earth down a dune slope;
the humidity threatening to condense
but never following through.
unlike rain through paper relieving the tension
that holds the world together,
this landscape crackles into inhumane patterns.
2 comments:
Spam!
i like spam, it makes me feel warm inside. i particularly like how it said "rather cool"
intellectual spam :)
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