Left On The Dunes

Talking points at ground zero 
trap the heat. The tyranny 
knows no bounds. 

Trauma of awaiting liberation 
was intense. No truth was 
ready to accept the bends. 

I feel cheated when, 
the dark gives a sermon about 
the hidden dawn. 

The hair burn in unmade 
bed, taking a cue from 
the beast, who will not sleep. 

Where do the white stars 
go, when the sun rises? I 
will ask the crying lake.