pretty sleepy, just to
look at me–

dirtiest of
sandman’s works,

when desert
gust

tore last page
of dream

from
fate’s book,

i swear the
hourglass shook.

was sorted out
in smoke-

windows
shut..

exits
boarded up,

chained to
chair–

ashes in our
prayers
for..

air.

a flicker from
ether,

for critical
relief

fresh breath in
the eyes

of
belief.