Yukka, rabbits, bubonic plague. I need the same heat on me as in me, dry and crisp, to be the only water for miles around. Bugs hover like disciples, bright revelation on exposed flesh. The humans are pruney and caught in a grin. Everything looms at night as if listenting to see if I'll break, if my prayer will lift me to the tops of the rocks then throw me to the canyon floor crying Whoa .
Ghosts walk the canyon talking about nothing much.
The one who drew me in a game of straws approaches my tent, leans on my bladder and attaches electrodes to my heart. When the rain comes I dream of sex, the kind you wake up to, glowing. All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without permission.