How wearing the patience of vultures is
in the desert of people's eyes
waiting for you to surrender!
How masticating
the needles of these thistles are
sewing the garment of your death!
How invisible I am
bleeding to death
in the desert of this town,
upon the vagarious oasis of this mirage of civility,
these benumbed glimpses,
these burning winter of vanity,
these abandoned hearts' hearths!
Frozen hearts echoed in the eyes,
sparging out of their sockets,
like salt water on my chest wounds,
burns, burrowing
in my bones.
There is always
the machination of indifference frost
in the desert of these glacial grimaces
that congeals your blood
while your flash conflagrates.
::
Hi Vultures,
this is me!
celebrate this feast!
Upon the scorching taste of
this drought in my throat,
this desert of humanity,
I surrender to my thirst
for you to sip on
the last of these seeps.
