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Suckin’ on nicotine salts
throwing back German malts —
trying to cure the illness of the asphalt;
the metropolitan assult.
Give me trees of Yucca
out where I can chuckle —
the only way to process the struggle.
My brain is just another thing to juggle.
Out to find self-confidence
where coyotes, birds, & cactus are the populace.
Let the Joshua Trees hear my stream of consciousness.
Maybe the rocks will bless this mess.
I’ll be back tomorrow
after my desert variety show,
so that I can fit into the status quo —
until I lose the afterglow.
By then, again — I’ll have to go.
Soaring over the desert, cackling like a crow.
February 8, 2024