A lone voice crying in the wilderness:
Make the straight way for the coming of the?
A dry throat stutters on an empty vision
Of milk and honey and desolate quiet.
A dry mouth falters on the opening blast of a song
To ruin what it left behind.
A bare sole longing for the feel of concrete,
And a lone voice crying in the wilderness.
I have these dreams when I'm feeling sick of unfinished patterns
That I can't collate at all,
Of an inward breath in a land bereft of uncrippled figures,
Of an exhalation, of the himavant, of a pulse