the sun's warmth passes overhead
i long to lie on glass plateaus
dry crack'd soil when sinking teeth
crumbles easily
like rotting flesh

all that was is overshadowed
a looming sick juxtaposition
i hear the chimes and flutes afar
when wind rattles through a field of bones

sooty grey, crème fraîche,
are veins of thistle without color
skulls and talons burning hot,
gleaming bright in desert-day

stripped by sand and beetle bites
fall’n remains and dusty cans
eons pass in tens and thousands,
all plunges into trench-ed depths...

a sacred golden tomb emerges
in the midst of a red monsoon
magma from below the surface
billows in a thousand plumes

this land is hell from what i see
the valleys are deadly and unforgiving
i'm swallowed up by rising tides,
all washes away before the dawn.