Cactus Fingers

This is the first poem ive posted on here, and probably the first time ive shared any of my writing with anyone other than my english teachers for assignments

i wrote the two parts of it separately and havent really tried to put them together yet
first part i wrote:

The tendons pump
and move
no skin to cover them
cold wind blowing in
from the window
they move.

the warm cactus fingers
protruding
slide along
and wake you up
with the sound of their
screams.

second part written later and not as part of first part:
Cactus fingers and
needle hands of
swirling dust
and tired creativity
reach from the dirt
into gray afternoon,
their nonexistent voices
creeping into your ear;

churches crawling and smiling
trying to hold you in
as you forget,
with their ceramic walls
and plastic plants
that do nothing but
suck up the air;

stores and restaurants and
servicemen in their blue suits
all moving you along,
wont let you look
wont let you remember
and feel
and taste
unless you bring them the
dead trees still green
that they devour with greed;

children strutting on sidewalks
chests out and chins up,
shoes clean and clinging
as they forget the moments
that are short and that
they are losing as they
become the beasts of tomorrow;

i dont think its done yet but i wanted some input before i really did anything else with it

peace