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Thursday
May252017

drought

and once again, the hills go back to brown
and the dry brush piles up in the corner

this place is arid most of the time
and any vagaries in the weather
feel like a broken promise
or a delusion
like a man with $3 left to his name
ordering a brandy and a steak dinner in a brasserie.
with every bite he is reminded of where he is.
he can only close his eyes and savor this hour,
his final dinner of intemperance before the bill
unseats his fantasy. 


i am like the grass on these hills.

i do not belong

in this desert.


 

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