A Better View
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.