the true taste of drought

oh ye silence
where pitter patter’s ghost
stirs air as soft as space
where bedazzled ideas twist and fade
spawning armies of incarcerated wanton spermatozoa
yacking and hacking to the weak lost minds of their mindless canons
guided by the breath of shiny dimes in dark and dirty streets
just looking for a place to kneel and show their wears
 
oh ye pindrop
whose faintness continues to pale
to deafness
so blind and drained of humor
till eyes water from the absence of you
 
and then
the sloth like rhythm of morse code stilettos
as they climb my mind
and pass through the dark closet door
ca clunk
 
ca clunk
 
 
 
ca clunk
 
and your nail
i imagine polished with the blood of my tears
scratching
reminding me
that there is life outside my cage
 
and that you prefer this
that you insist
that i feed upon the crumbs of your attention
for how, ever would one know  
the true taste
of drought