Dust in Wind

Dust in wind, a sinful gust of
sand in grit of beating rust;

particles
collide
and
eat
away
the skin

a howling grim overture
for dunes' musical rapture
requiem for the exodus
of skeletal remains
of a need to clear my mind
'so stay behind'
the thought it sings
she sings in mortal coils
in oily contralto
yet the burning dead is here
nothing but bones without flesh
licked clean in howling waves of
salty flat and dry sea.

Oh well then,
I have a minute or so
before I die of thirst;
why not listen to her ghostly siren?


[20:08|16.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter