Ghost Waning

This

landmine of landscapes- lusted after with no depth.
resonant; meticulous needs of the particular,
somber, unfinished.
hibernate, as the desire loses not its clench upon my esophagus.
Full of words unheard, guttural sounds dig graves deeper than the sahara's lonely terrain
Oh, Mercury, your wit and questioning engages me- furious as the waves upon open shore, 
Land already discovered, written off as never-more.
I deny the tongue to speak of lost days, though the evidence is abounding.
Same pages, lept over.
Skimmed text , boring as manual instructions, written to guide and ignore.
Loneliness, one chooses to interpret as an intuitive desire of the understanding you wish was really there.
Songs, growing with the years. You may have repeated them a hundred times to discover the place in the future the meaning rests.
I speak for the trees, I crawl back gasping for air.
Feed me.
Nurture me.
Illuminate my soul.
I am barren and full of desire,
of shores abandoned in haste.
I know not what star guides me in this night, hollow.
I disregard that which pains my muscles, rips the threads from my hair.
Mucous, bloodied, still and dry in my airwaves.
Gasping for air.
Gasping for hope.
Surviving on the marrow of yesterday's abyss.