Delirious
flowers in the dust-bloom off my boots.
water in the devil-bread succulence of stones.
heat waves to stipple Shangri-la cranes.
a mile means nothing here,
swallowed by the drool of a dry riverbed.
fishlike ribs in strata of stones
swim fossilized in waterless water.
no cacti only sand.
dunes that won’t hold an epitaph.
the stars, such sad primal parents,
pray porous in the false mud of heaven.
blurry in the swim,
she who cannot scream,
a mermaid who shall remain thus,
dessicant and desecrated.
on and on the diorama
drifts drifts drifts
assuming the husk of every sort of beast
the wary seek to avoid.
but it shall end:
such is the fate of all chariot archers
who chase after too-fast food,
burning their wheels to fly.
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