A lone voice crying in the wilderness: Make the straight way for the coming of the? A dry throat stutters on an empty vision Of milk and honey and desolate quiet. A dry mouth falters on the opening blast of a song To ruin what it left behind. A bare sole longing for the feel of concrete, And a lone voice crying in the wilderness. I have these dreams when i'm feeling sick of unfinished patterns That i can't collate at all, Of an inward breath in a land bereft of uncrippled figures, Of an exhalation, of the himavant, of a pulse