A Pome a Day for a Year

Silly old brain and noggin,
with the tire and the drained,
the sluggish status coarsing
like sandworms through
my dunes, folded.

I am a big old desert, parched
of water, though I can spot
an oasis or two, hiding beyond
the shimmer of heat
that rises from my hills.

Look at that sun above,
the cloudless blue that
hangs an upside ocean,
but no birds swim,
they are all just laying
upon the sandstone warmth.