Bones bleach fast in the withering air
and I would rather mine lie in desert than snow
picked clean by lizard and vulture and insect
by coyote and puma and the desiccating calefaction
of relentless sun
White and scattered with the rocks and the dust
relics on the landscape lost in time
I will be strange artifacts as a keepsake to be found
by some yet-to-come archaeologist
the heat bakes and boils the air in strange shapes
by the creosote bush in the blaze
‘til the crepuscular gloom brings forth to feast
on flesh drier than ancient leather
from whence all moisture fled
those scavengers of the dusk
Blood seeps from sunken eyes as skin sags
on exsiccated bones, tongue swelled and black
as words finally flee in delirious stupor
muscles cramp in agonizing contortions
until the delusions of dehydration
render meaningless those torments
Will that archaeologist wonder
at these scattered remains?
Will salt still cling to sunken cheek?
Or will this lie unseen forever in desert oblivion

One thought on “Sun

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