CIRCLING OVERHEAD
Gray sky thunder in the morning, lightning through a picture window,
Carrion birds chant warning, in a deep, high-pitched crescendo.
Will I fall beneath the surface, slipping deep into the quagmire?
Will the shifting sands engulf me, will I perish in the fire?
My legs move slow or not at all, my arms don’t swing, my eyes don’t blink.
My vessel’s crashed against the rocks, I watch it slowly sink.
The earth cracks open all around, just like me it trembles,
Movement slow and jerky, and limbs no longer nimble.
My body like a mudslide, slipping ‘til it caves,
A rigid mess of aching flesh, a despot warped and crazed.
The desert sky is bleeding crimson, mocking me with angry heat,
Flesh and blood my hapless prison, chains around my legs and feet.
Black sky thunder in the twilight, all forlorn I’m left for dead,
The carrion birds erupt in flight, circling overhead.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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