Crowded Void

I want to wrap myself in purple thunder, but the sky is empty, devoid of daisies and warm blankets of rainy sleep, lacking dreams of sweltering summer clouds hiding dusk and muffling the tearful eyes of crickets singing down the sun, ending the world in books eluding sleepers’ hands and slamming shut on floors of hard, baked soil; it’s all missing from void hollow streets of hollow noise, empty bustling in canyons of greyed houses and too much absence in the same space as too much presence, crammed with noise where there should be only the silencing force of a thunderstorm.