Killing Time in the Desert

Not love nor power
are luminescent like
a burning burning
summer fireball starry sky.
Freckled universe. I am.
burning from within and hope
for my skin to show the same
thing that I swallow like a
rock when I am resigned to screaming behind plexiglass.
And yes, when made burned
it feels to finally release a choke.
The thing
that chokes.
That collapsed lungs twitched under.
Not any sort of poison,
just blunt force
and roughly handled soft skin
that I work so hard to make hateful hide.
Jealous of rock and dirt now,
That my sneakers make matte.
An itch only from my granulated earth collected under sick sweat.
And I will never be cold again.
If I am crushed to never be the sun,
I will hold all stars in flaky flesh.
Storing angry heat if I can’t be the heat
myself.
So at night,
under a chilled moon and blue sky,
clouded only by starlight and clear at
the same time like glass,
I speak back to it all
with my vengeful
trapped warmth.

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