high altitudes and attitudes


my wooden altar is not a large one, yet it floats
above this mountain town in planks of rotting wood.

soft peaks rise behind the tunnel of garbage that builds
in drifts along my temple railings

at this altitude i assumed i would inhale the air of gods, elevated
so much more than physically above the grit and rattlesnakes


but the smell of hot trash is on the wind
as i exude his poison in red splashes of desert fauna and



a smile sways at my mouth, bloodless,
as i descend back into scarab