by: William A. Marshall

There was an isolated
strangeness,
exposed and rock dry
an eclectic barbed ether
drifted through
the gaps
and inflamed trails,
like a phantom wrapping
its finger spikes
around me,
still and dangerous
objective and so honest
I noticed its
recommendations
nothing to prove and
nothing to demonstrate
nothing to procure
it could care less
about me
about you,
the bloodshot arroyo
where everything was still
a red war god observing
the prominent cliffs,
guarding night and day
a sunrise so vivid
piercing through rock
walls that followed
me down there,
in there, I was
with salty scorpions
and milled sand grit
perverted junipers peppered
the floor and
**** rocks - everywhere,
they fell and died
when they were ready,
I did not notice one
plunge, but my *****
alerted my soul
with each abrupt drop-off
its hasty nothingness
and the world continued
to spin,
visit and hook
this desert wind shocks
regardless of what I believe
and I felt there,
I notice that nothing counted
there was nothing to prove
- unspoiled.
a perfect shattered wasteland,
go ahead and tell
me your position
while my horse
looks up ahead for
the next creek
for shade or serpents
in the sand,
the desert is apathetic
comparable to those
in tall glass buildings
with white collars
that creep and strangle,
the red rocks still plummet
with or without
us there
and you and I
will too, I thought
I would see
one fall, but
it was
not
time