a voice in the desert wind
sand on my tongue
a pound of dry scraping off my words
onto barren soil
I lay my heart down
why not, nothing can hurt it now
armored from love and hate
I am ready for death
there is no sound and no passion
only a sigh of wind through sparse brush
history does not exist here in this landscape
time rules here only very subtly
in means immeasurable it passes
by human standards nothing is moving
it is loud, but with no distinct sound
I hear see taste feel and hope for nothing new
A slow procession is the same as a recursive loop
as elapsed time nears zero aspirations are meaningless
as expectation is stilled
the heart beat a metronome for a single note song
the wealthy, famous, sexy, charismatic
they feel lost as love ends for them
famous adulteries of beautiful beings
falling apart in a camera lens
teaching me, soothing my anxiety
I am not alone in this desert
this isolated waste
all humanity ends here
with this whistling wind and dun soil
caking us un-defining us
blurring our definite edges
this smudge of love lost
touches even the angels of the media heavens
and I, lowly I, have no hope of escaping
barefoot and pain stumbling across
this indistinct cracked earth
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