Sluggard, look to the ant; broken, look to God.

I'll, my story write
on skin; blood for ink, bone for stylus.
I'll trudge through this desert,
pick bones of old Kings,
sate thirst on the breasts of dead wells
& from the dunes, I'll rise reborn or
I'll just lie here and dream of
these things until sleep takes me.

I'll fall in love with a queen,
breathe on her nape, inhale her skin
& eat from her mount of worship, a
penitent pilgrim prostrate before her
holy of holies, my propitiation before me;
gold, English & tented boxer shorts
or I'll just lie here & dream of
these things until sleep takes me.

I'll see the sea & the shores
of stranger places, my passport as valid
as yours, my skin as valid as yours.
I'll visit the pyramids to offer my
obeisance to old gods & the Washington
monument to question new gods or
I'll just lie here & dream of these things
until sleep takes me.

I'll, like Fela, suck a blunt, curl smoke
within my lungs and let it permeate me
like the holy spirit touched me.
I'll get drunk and take a stroll to the cliff
edge, call God by his name and then
jump so I can fly with migrating birds or
I'll just lie here & dream of these things
until sleep takes me.

I need to get off my butt and go about living and breathing again.

©warpedpoetic, 2019.