Late Hike
ants of sweat plod over my wrists.
cars flee quickly by, in pursuit of shiny colors.
a nearby foothill, brushfire-sooted,
gawks from the granite taffy-machine of time.
no mercy from young heatstroke.
the valley i walk
orbits a bright black hole of vultures.
dust disguised as lizards disguised as dust
shuffles stones over my leathery feet,
stones that could be stone tablets
whose hidden, cryptic etchings ask:
“where are the begets and the laws?
where are the ezekiels and the daniels?
where are the lamentations
and the ecclesiastes?”
sidewinders, even they get lost in this cauldron,
amid simmery bubbles of sunset
and ladles of shadow full of illimitable heat.
surely this is some recipe of long sacrificed creatures.
god and the devil,
all sustentance, knowledge and code,
gone to broth.
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