I am sad.
I float inside a dull womb-
Tears find their way into the
Sapient cracks of my spine but
The land is too dry here and it gobbles them up,
Bubbling charcoal grey sediment,
As moisture is siphoned
To sand.
I muster up the courage to try and find
A decent shard of seasoned goodness
In the gobydleygook of the world. . .
I try and despite that
I cannot get myself out of the
Wretched rut of confusion that
has crawled down into my senses. . .
And down my throat.
These uncomfortable yearnings
Balled in cotton cloth
Hide deeply in the folds of my soul.
Trancelike, I hold them in for
another day, another walk around
The sun.