Ants swarm the daydreams
then drag away
line by line
the oozing salt-streams
mined from the wounds
they carry
to the sand silos of the anthill
cutting through the cartilage
the futility, they smell its blood
they talk to each other in the dreams
those who light incense
for themselves
know too well
why time burns daydreams into smoke
these anthill mines
that conceal the sandstorms
are migratory
the sand changes colour
spitting out the likeness of dream
given the signals, the ants
flee the anthills
from the wrist’s open vein
mysteries seep out
and on the pooling blood
the evening sun shines

Share this poem

view comments

Comments (0)

No comments yet - be the first:

Leave a comment