From Dust ‘Till Dawn

clouds crawl steadily
over your limp form; cracked & chipped
after the dismal desert storm —
it seems like yesterday
has not happened in ages

plastered to the dry dirt, transfixed
by a hyena’s lullaby
you wilt & wait
for forceful hands
to push you deeper

through clotted lips you conjure
a string of allurement, no wider than
a hair’s breath —
but sturdy enough
to get tangled up in.

you never intended
to drown alone.

Politics’ Little Helpers

lubricated words,
“truth” those are called;
slip easily
into people’s minds…
little worms, wriggling their ways
to set up camp next to synapses,
lay eggs to multiply
admiration and awe,
and make sure
people smile and nod.

are we still
waiting for a Zombie Apocalypse…
or is it
already here?!