The Things, the World Poetry Collection

Dry Arkansas

Dough like a French baguette.
I lay fresh in the sun's oven
With my pupils wandering
At the sapphire ocean above me.
An ocean filled with misty clouds
Assembled in formation for battle.

Minutes rotate on the imaginary clock.

I lay toasted in the sun's oven
With my sweat bleaching
Through my crispy shirt.
Wishing for a gulp
Of heaven's chilling water would be a blessing.

Heat cranks it up a notch.

I lay now, over-cooked in the sun's oven
With my eyes shutting down
Into a trance of unwanted dreams.
A thousand arrows plummet from the sky,
Piercing my burning body.

Scared like a child in the dark abyss

I lay soaked in the sun's oven
With my skin dipped in water.
A fire alarm rung from the black sky
Glistering water fell gracefully
Like angels saving a day of endless scorch trials.