I have got nothing but a sick head
a foul taste in my mouth
ghost images of velociraptors
hiding behind order
standing in the shade
with their long teeth
and their long fingers
while the rest of us bake
in the hot sun
my hot head
a gelatinous skin
has settled
over top of the stew
the insects are feasting
on what is soon to be infection
and then the dinosaurs
won't want to
eat us
anymore
a crippled youth
they did not wish for us better
but to keep their seat
underneath
the umbrella.