Sandy in the Desert
poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2009


When I woke
Up this morning
The rain was falling
Upon my porche

I could see lines
But I saw no straights
There were times
I had to search

For a meaning
That I was worth
Living out
On this foreign turf

The sandy soil
Where blood does boil
Even if your calm
Like an unlimbed arm

When I spoke
Just a warning
To my fellow foes
I kept

It was as though
The were mourning
They restless answers
Which seldom slept

Under bed sheets
With big black ants
Crawling into
Your underpants

It was hell
But it did mean well
So I lit a lantern
For every soul

That passed away
That glassed out
By my window
Beyond control