A Better View
Jason Fraley

After the sandstorm—a diamond encrusted windshield. Despite
initial appearances, the tires did not melt into the pavement. The
empty gas canister in the trunk overflows with fumes. In a moment
of Baptist relapse, I believe cacti are edible over flame. A dust halo
follows every step. I shed my boots, crawl into the shade. Nightfall

and lightning: I walk to the canyon rim as night unfurls its Medusa
locks. The rustle of water mimics the sound of rain – a reminder my
tongue has already evaporated. Below, the moon begets another moon.
I take off my gloves. Leaning over, my freshly manicured nails do not
glimmer amid the rocks.