Umulkulsum Sarki writes

Dusty Dern

There is a gaping buffoon haunting

a darkness eating slowly at my desires

like a termite shrinking wood to its skeleton

demolished them down to paupers

a column of shadows scorched untraced

by boiling face, trailing tears, like eye

searching snake lost in the mind

it burns slowly like dew rolling down the window hinges of the afternoon sun.

I ask this fire, that neglects the smell 

and the flesh cries of what it burnt,

where did the sun hide its golden rays so early a morning? 

There is a light that slowly crawls up in my head

that the real sun might knows nothing about,

it haunts down my destructive ignorance & 

blows it away like a pile of dry wind rippling feathers. Tipsy, tipsy but the pain

still unpaint step step the way forward.

There are secrets in power-bike's sounds

mechanical reasoning that cannot 

go past my opulent chest no matter its speed

noise only weigh me down into worry's hole,

filled with scent of lonely earth and my deeds, 

but like air and mist I vanish with them

in the art of my becoming…