Blak Sanbij

I blow my nose and
The boogers are black–
Like the tiny scraps of stone
Still scratching my scalp
Each time these eager fingers brush
Through tangled hair.
They may call us stardust, but
Today I'm modern,
Prehistoric,
The ghost of volcanoes past;
Dusty, hardened vomit turned to
Bits of glitter that glimmered in
Baking sunlight,
The wind whispering it to
Shimmying, shimmering life.
I reach for my pen and
Find sand in my pocket,
Close my eyes and taste it:
Smoke,
Salt,
Sea.

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