Manifested

Bleached and burnt in the Summer sun, I flop about in the cracks that ripple like rays made jagged by fanciful expectations diverted. My tongue smacks parched, bloated and raw against the fish-bone grate taunting-- that yellow-thatched roof at the apex of gluttony and guttural projections. Language distills down to a series of random cliques and ticks praising mundane worship in material delicate by design to frustrate and ensure further consumption at the troth of the heathens, unaware of the vast difference between orders and gifts, until knees bend under the pressure of the heavens demanding substance in life.