Poem #708

shadow of the fan strobing on the ceiling
my skin burns like hot ice
maybe I should sleep
fall into the heavy slumber of summer
dream of lazily watching bugs crawl over me
their minuscule legs tickling my arms and legs
they bite
I scratch the pink welts raw
maybe I should stay awake

Poem #701

the ground glitters
with millions of ice crystals
wherever the light shines
my fingers are numb
only on my right hand
because it holds the light
the rocks are warm
in comparison to everything
no glitter on the rock moss