scorchio

Me & the Don

we got it goin’ on

there on the fields of gold

as the sky cartwheels

the sun high on my head

& I don’t understand the ghosts

playing out here in dead casas

strange writing on the walls

green scale lizards skittering by

& if there was a ragged windmill

I’d tilt my rusted lance let it fly

my thoughts baked in the heat

the heat & the light enough

for this rustic choking on dust

wondering just just

who thought it might be a great idea

walking through this scorched landscape

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