Death Valley rains
Sky wood-like veins
The sweat of your roots I can smell,
A whistle of your charm, trading spells
I cut the head of a cockroach
And kept living for a while
I took a dream that was blue,
Faced my ceiling on still
Hold my attention on the stained window
Beautiful it is,
But the dirt is on the other side.
The frame floats on an ocean
Not like the clouds, grey
Like mars on a winter day

Barefoot through a land of living photographs
Thirty slow songs on the Mojave
Giant breaths crossing desiccated bosoms
Milking the seas with desire
It hurts on my feet,
Nothing teaches like pain

Whispers like,
You don’t see the agitation
We are so fragile for a world this hostile
So dangerous, yet the sun feed us mercy
Spoiled in this heart trapped in time
Pumping blood, its a buzz
When the ears craves silence
We are bacteria
Cloud seeking fungus
Warm like a mother womb
Love so passionately, through the killing
Thin moon glows on forever sunsets
Fitful shaped spirits, glacing daze
Hometown girl grabbed a mountain,
Put it in my hand
Now a headless queen,
Crowns the night away
Such numbness for concrete, the apes
Not a dawn but a life
And then a thousand more,
Some place else.
Sooted forbidden fantasies
Look at myself in technicolor blaze
The cricket cries,
Ahead of hotter days
A walk off the road, certain death
Evil just a thing, the horseflies
They can smell the hate
I can declare genocide,
Evil, just our thing
An Antique sand timer on my chest
Eternal breeze, saw me
Burning a slice of my notebook, desperate
The punk now can sleep.

May, 2019 (three verses written during on my stay in the mojave desert, California)