kalosta neash
we are on a dystopian journey.
in this dessicated desert, we turn
to each other with parched lips,
trying to forget ourselves.
we sweat under relentless rays
the simmering desire of our sun.
i am bold, but pale of skin,
so i try not to lay myself bare.
still, i follow you, going red.
you're a very young jim morison
and i'm just a lost groupie.
i always let myself get too much sun.
your tanned skin shades you
as we travel through the blaze,
blinded by the twinkle of a grain of sand.
wary eyes squinting at me in this light,
you hide behind strands of dark hair.
once in a while, i get a glimpse of
the large brown eyes of a fragile boy.
we roll around in the burning sand;
hot potatoes trying to keep moving.
the ardent wind wraps us up
in a diaphanous blanket of sand.
the sparkles dissolve into my hair
and go straight to my skull.
i just try not to get any in my eyes.
i'll shake my head for hours
and the grains will keep falling.
we don't even bother trying
to build sandcastles in this windy world.
you fill my pockets with fine grains of sand,
releasing passionate shrouds into the wind
carrying it off; my heart wrapped in words.
gasping, choking in the wind, i fill myself with sand.
i spit but the grainy texture remains
fine sparkles tickling my dry throat
i still wonder what love tastes like
what refreshment is.
we try not to chase after mirages
but savour their beauty from afar
-safe, isolated, stranded- we survive
on the twinkle of the words that we ration,
provisions for lonely spirits.
we must wander through this contradiction
without compass or direction. we have no idea
what is on the other side of those dunes.
for your sake i pretend to be content without water
i eat the wet sand, the mudpies you make for me
and have faith in you to find a spring.
the only constant to guide us
is the sun. of course it drugs us,
a hallucinogenic scarecrow pointing out
east from west. the days go around
in circles on the inevitable path to see
a wizard or a bag behind a curtain
for a brain or maybe a heart.
