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Waypoint in the Desert
Sandy jaws to swallow,
emphatic noise to follow.
The swivel of the molten air,
The link on third - try not to care;
and beg for turn in right direction
from the waypoint in the desert, there ...
Cast from drowning oceans,
I bottled self in sand.
My newest skin encased in grains,
I withstood and will withstand.
Winds came with their beating;
my blood just wouldn't clot.
The only sting that woke me up
was lost as I'd forgot
to keep my head on level
and know which way to merge.
The desert lay enraptured
upon the day its dirge
rang to scare the buzzards;
rang to stir the rocks.
I saw a waypoint standing far
with every angle locked.
I took a step to face it;
it threw away a glance.
Chances are at elsewhere,
somewhere left to chance.
It told me this way, that,
spat at both my shoes;
all along alluring by
all the paths to choose.
It took on filling curves;
turned from wood to bone.
Making flesh from drying leaves,
it offered me its throne.
And the harshness dropped to dollops,
with sun intensified -
as the post was human,
I swept the thought aside.
