Sand

16May07

there’s sand between my toes and stuck to my calves

Its in my knee pits and collar bone and in my eyebrows and hair

I can taste the sun on my lips and feel it on my closed eyelids

I rake the sand with my fingers and burry my feet

the warm wind is blowing spare grains across my face

and they get caught in the corners of my eyes and mouth

and I blink to set them free onto my pink, burning cheeks

If I squint, the grey and brown buildings that rest on the skyline

look more and more like mountains that meet a perfect sea

instead of a dirty city on a dirty lake next to a dirty beach

My finger tips meet cigarrette butts and other debris

while running back and forth through the heated sand

I keep my eyes closed, because the sun is still on my face

it’s still warming my skin, cell by cell by cell and sand is everywhere

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Untitled

16May07

The city sits solid on a perfect grey backdrop,
dissolving any sense of depth perception
She inhales and casually flicks the loose ashes
from the end of her smoldering cigarette
They fall to the ground, dancing like dirty snow
before resting on the callous cement
save for one, caught by the wind and taken for a ride
It dissapears for a moment, camoflauged
by the seamless expanse of ashen sky
She imagines that it wants nothinig more
than to become part of it, high and lofty and free
But just as she suspects that it has dissapeared
on an unpredictable and beautiful journey
it comes spiraling back into view
first hitting the bricks of the wall then anticlimactically
joining its brethren on the cold pavement

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