living in the past
hoping for an illusion
not coping with the present

sleep
eat
play

never noticed
that the air
is pure poison

hanging in the sky
like a ripe peach
the size of a watermellon

My power animal beckons,
but I prefer safety
and fail to answer.

No man is an island.
But then again,
no man is a potato chip either.

Trying to outrun the heat.
It catches up with us
when we slow down.