You sleep on the back of a mule
Casualty flashes in the sea of sand
And the stone crackles under the hoof
The throat is dry and the sun drills
You're hanging in the dark
And the wind tangles your blood-matted hair
Prometheus crouches on shoulder
And pecks blue sclera (white of the eyes)
You're sitting in a room and listening to the sound from the bathroom
Where your father washes huge lumpy hands
And wheezes (on?) water
That slaps on his face
You're looking into the eyes of a woman
That screams underneath you
In the forest in a steam cloud
That hisses from your (plural) breath
You're moaning from jab of hundreds of little needles
That pinch the cracked/fractured spine
Underneath the burden of a bag with scent of coffee and salt
You're tearing hot meat with teeth
You scream in drunken fright
Of death
Of knife
Of light
Of dark
Of joy
Of pain
Of self
Near self