Left On The Dunes

Talking points at ground zero
trap the heat. The tyranny
knows no bounds.

Trauma of awaiting liberation
was intense. No truth was
ready to accept the bends.

I feel cheated when,
the dark gives a sermon about
the hidden dawn.

The hair burn in unmade
bed, taking a cue from
the beast, who will not sleep.

Where do the white stars
go, when the sun rises? I
will ask the crying lake.