| Burning sun beating down
Boring into my brain.
Better hope I don't succumb
But sweetly smells the sleep of rain.
Baked sand, blistered feet,
Brown skin, bleached hair,
Bitter taste, blurred eyes,
Bursting welts, bruised thighs.
Hot breath, empty belly,
Tortured back, aching bones,
Sweaty brow, dried blood,
Open boils, bare stones.
Leaden sacks of white salt
Are slung across this hapless beast,
Slip and shuffle down the slope
To find the sled that neatly creased
A pair of tracks that hug the dunes.
Impossible snakes winding east.
Rough rocks, muscle mocks,
And I careen again.
Wicked whips, livid lips
Scathe me like the wind.
Gag on grit, slipshod spit
Please drip where I pustulate.
Carefully cower, dolefully dour,
Mindless, I capitulate.
Weak-kneed wobble, heroic hobble,
Limbs lurch to a perilous perch.
Bravado banter, asinine answer,
A savored jest they sorely search.
Hotly harried, heinous hell,
Who’s the fairest of the knell?
Salty White, pummeled with pain,
Plead to perish on this pitiless plain!
Ghoulish ball of blazing fire
Boring back in my brain,
Superficial shell of hurt,
No escape from my bane.
Throbbing thought, thick thirst,
Fated fool, fortune's first.
Dare to dream, dare to spy
Cool oasis in the sky.
Come mirage, thou blissful friend,
Beholden me my journey's end!
©1999 Carl Pecinovsky
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