Santa Susana Foothills
remnants of spiderwebs in cracks of sandstone,
remnants of giants that gnash teeth dreaming,
fractured now, jaws that screamed of ignored skulls
till a valley brimmed with their dusty breath
and a vulture droops through sockets and cavities,
waiting for the spiders to spin again.
nightshade swallows the sun
deadly with the instinct-wrath of viper-on-mouse.
in a pelvis-shaped canyon
the wind moans as coyotes raise their eldritch piccolos
and a few last bats paroxysm over
the charred, charred, charred
brushless ashen faces of burnt slopes.
dawn swarms boulders with spray-painted pentacles
near sage leaves that cat-lick a flipped car,
maybe Charles Manson’s rusty chassis,
maybe, who knows, his enslaved killer cultists',
or maybe another big bust coffin crash
from a B-grade movie set.
just another day gnashed by sandstone,
dust and rust settling into cracks,
coyotes, vipers, bats mice mice mice char char char
wrinkled splintered faces on rocks
with herbs as cruel and kind as cats,
those amorous murderers
when the spiders spin again.
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