when I woke up, it was a blur.
the feeling of sand on my tongue...
gritty, raucous, like a million
tasteless western movie stars
crunching between my teeth. spit
was hard to come by here
in glaring desert heat.
free from the silence of dreams, at least.
hello rustle of clothes in sand and
you painfully dry wind.
my throat thinks me a despot,
but my throbbing head distracts
from its rebellious woes.
how do I orient a single ticklish thought
after a slumber so deep, I well-nigh forgot
the Sandstorm?
Written by Janette B on September 15, 2022. FUCK COPYRIGHT!