A lone voice crying in the wilderness
Make the straight way for the coming of the—

A dry throat stutters on an empty vision
Of milk and honey and desolate quiet
A dry mouth falters on the opening blast of a song to ruin
What it left behind
A bare sole longing for the feel of concrete
And a lone voice crying in the wilderness

I have these dreams when I'm feeling sick
Of unfinished patterns that I can't collate at all
Of an inward breath in a land bereft of uncrippled figures
Of an exhalation
Of the himavant
Of a pulse