Bejewelled,
Orwellian
and lame
the sand exfoliates soft colour
as if by magic
and I’m
gone.
Plastic
felines
twinkle like stars.
I have so many memories that
slip from dunes.
Even the wind
seems
against
me.
We had a
chance to
soar
like the monsters
before us;
now leaden
and packed
to
dusted loft space
,
thought
rots.
(the distance
between steps
is
wondrous.
even this tight air
oppresses
me as
I
sleep.)