When the dust burns,
As solid as concrete,
As meaty as a plastic canvas,

You and I shall leave,
You and I shall breathe,
You and I shall pinch the stars
Like rosebuds and heave
Hot oily air into our lungs,

The desert as sharp and stuffed
With sands of a paralysed butterfly,
They quicken their wings, then die,

You and I shall lock,
You and I shall watch,
You and I shall wiggle our thumbs
Into an oblong ocean, a block,
Of ice and soil,

Dirtying the pads of our wounds,
An air that fizzes on our tongues,
In heat, in freeze,

Our tongues two silver forks,

Our lungs a pair of shoes.


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