the cactus stands alone. long shadows perch in the landscape.
brooding in the rust of twilight, as an autumn moon scorches indigo
lumbering over the horizon on all fours. now only five stars
in the sky ... but soon a riot of ghosts,

something looms in the loom. it has broad shoulders -
so giants may pass and kidney-stones lodge in the smoke.
there are too many lovers clipping eyes from their stalks.
and blindness is the new tongue
of a lost mouth to a cave
of Petroglyphs.

a remote species of man
eating dirt and vibrations.
a horde of monkeys with souls
damning sunshine
to a clouded
thought,