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Nakedness Of My Alarm

Dust devils that weasel in my mind
riding the nakedness of my alarm
like a tornado twisting in my head
brother to the night, rising in the dark

Across the shadow where I mourn
as you reach out with pale fingers
dripping the moss, blinding my eyes
of aqueous humor, run, run, run

Bleeding cold of the night
with a face mask of death
giving birth to a higher fever
with my rum's semen brew

Spinning away as a wind-locked cloud
clutching my soul of loose morals
giving into the pain of dust devils
riding the nakedness of my alarm
adagio
Written by adagio
Published
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