Desert heat
sinks like teeth
in dreams of flesh.
Unconsciously her fangs
as sharp as archetypes
cut deep during sleep,
...then like a mother
she spits us out.
There's endless sand
as far as the eye can see,
relentless sunlight
and an unquenchable thirst.
She ripples like a pond
with succulent seduction.
Moist mirage.
I drink air.
She dances like smoke
on a surreal wall
reflecting reality
so brutally real.
There's a weapon, a whip
a hammer, a nail
and a prophet nailed to a board.
A buddha bleeds in a dark alley
while a thief makes off with nothing.
Judgment is murder
and everyone's a king.
So be it,
...Holy One.
roaming about like a lost dog
in a desert
chewing on a rubber bone
where there's an oasis
that's a figment
of your wandering mind
that you call home.
© 1999 by David Bozzi |