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Desks and Deserts
I am so thirsty
I begin to parch, meant for dead---
Wandering, staggering
The sun burns down and I
Evaporate.
Sweat raining upwards and filling the sky
Almost a mirage
Where is the groundwater?
I lie pressed into the sands, beg them to take me
Swallow me, bury me
Like I colonize an hourglass
I feel a black security, encircled in glass
At once--
My finger brushes something
Waxen, smooth
A feather.
A quill, a greased white beacon
Of life.
I tap it to the sheet and out pours an oasis
Succulent dark water that drips from the sides of my mouth
Runs through my fingers thickly, and I bathe in the laughter and tears
I am buried still, but not in the sands of suffocation
I drown in the ink of life
And suddenly
---Suddenly----
There is a new page to turn to
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I write a lot of water-metaphor poetry, and I wanted to do one inspired by an oasis---that is what writing is for me, relief from the droughts of life.