A Telegram From ''Eden''

Someone is shouting in the desert.
Is it only I that hears this uttering?

Echoes, mere notes of the past, I see a barren ocean ahead without shores.
hallucinations, mirage, all an illusion.

Beneath this velvet sun you will see the phantom of I trying to find a road out of this queer yet segregated ''Eden''.

No Prima Donna.
My throat however so dry, my hazel veins slowly escaping my body, thirst not quenched.
Crossed legs, my eyes half closed, sitting on the dune with sand tightly gripped in the palm of my hand. I AM finding the African within.

The sun find it's journey through the heaven.
Dim World.
The dark depths of the moon's light stare deeply back into my eyes.
Sleepless on ''Eden'', trying to uncover faces but that will be time well wasted, I have adapted the language of the sand and the movement of the wind.

By the time I get to Phoenix I would have already faded by Wednesday. The dead, undead.

Someone is shouting in the desert!!!
That someone, is, I.