I’d rather walk

in an endless waste

than in your forest

of plastic trees and flowers

and the herd of sheep

running in circles

shouting how cool it is

because that is what they are told to shout

and they always do as they are told.


At least in the vast desert,

the sun is real

and the beads of sweat are my own,

and the desert is free

and when I thirst

it’s because I’m thirsty

and my body is tired.


No one

has to tell me I’m thirsty

in the desert

and no one charges me

for being here.


And the emptiness is perfect

for building something

that has never been built before.



One thought on “Desert

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