20. there's a cactus where my lungs were supposed to be

there's a cactus where my lungs were supposed to be
and i think Someone made a mistake when They put it there
i understand that breathing involves air but
there's a desert where my stomach is
and the only mystery is how thirsty my gut gets
when the sky isn't falling
when the ground is a sheet of unbroken glass 
steaming under a big bedroom eye hovering above the still wind vanes
my bones beg for a storm
they curve, brittle and wise, ready for fury
untested as they are in mild weather
my toes press into pavement 
straws in sand
searching for a reason to fight the gale
that doesn't come
but scarecrows were built for waiting

shenzhen, china