Sand in the Hour Glass

A spineless blob of jelly,
a slab of marble bound to his back,
carved to the shape of a woman,
breathing man behind him,
a child in a cowboy hat,
rattling a six shooter
face melting into his pockets.
Scarred and filthy, with out any clothes
digging with the lower jaw bone of his decaying horse,
sweat like rivers, pours into the never-ending hole,
grain keeps falling back on his feet,
Trapped inside the hour glass.
Stuck half way, head tilted to the ground,
A gallery of paintings lifeless faces
hanging in frames, on non existing walls
covering his body in melting color,
screaming worms squirm, inside the canals of his brain,
body floating in the sky, ripples in the clouds
with a harem of women, indulging on grapes and wine,
floating in a pool of water, quenching the thirst,
boiling blisters erupt into the sand,
bitter black and white grain, that splashes over his face,
up to his eye’s his vision is clear.
Chains whipping the back, skin peels off into frogs,
leaping across the desert sand,
trampled by the little boys and girls,
picking up the naked man in the sand,
body tied to a wheel, spinning slowly.
a needle coming around closer and closer,
classical music crackling, body severed by the needle,
creating a perfect sound, turning on the bright light,
Ridding the darkness, that the skull creates.