It’s the hot smell of dirt that gets me most.
The snot in my nose bonding to rock dust and building a cast.
Sometimes I think I could puke from the feeling of my nostrils closing in.
Next comes the feeling of it in my throat as it cracks too.
My brow is a ledge for sweat, my clothes permeated with salt and moisture.
Water escapes everywhere, indifferent, not pausing to clean me off on its journey away from me.
It only leaves a sticky mat of fabric and human mud as my suit for the day.
I’ll drink more, every hour or so, to keep up the dress.