Drumbeats for scorpions



White dog yawns and

The air smells suddenly of canned beef.

When will the scorpion come?

At night, when the people stop their cars,

and sleep is better than talk.

Only then will the desert floor crackle

With insect legs

and drumbeats are hearts

instead of machines.

–a poem by KMM


About Lightning Heart (Vikara)

Nomad. Poet. Philosopher. Teacher. View all posts by Lightning Heart (Vikara)

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