Sprawled on the floor
With my head in the sands,
Outstretched for miles
In kaleidoscope fans--
My stomach burns with a thousand drops
Of a stinging elixir
From hot, distant lands.
Four walls keep a solar crab
From wandering timeless in miserable rows--
A dizzy and feverish lunar scoprion
With half of a body
Is a work of prose.
Pass this damp, uncertain night
In the wake of a swarm
Of delusional bees,
And acknowledge the truth
That a half is a whole
In the absence of tangible company.
Author notes
There are references in this to my astrological position.
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