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