The walking blues

Come with me on a trip to bountiful where the trees hide little mysteries. We can move our hips on liberty’s highway a red winged blackbird will shout and up above the owlets gaze while we dance on venom’s grave. Yes! Democracy must ring true while we sway in nature’s view. Our shoes are made

Frio y caliente and all that is between

What is this virus that stalks – it hunts, it preys, then it sells us an image of coyotes pacing upon the desert’s floor where the prickly cactus is gurgling, and the snake bends to the earth while footsteps wind beyond rivers marking a line that is unremarkable – an arbitrary thing, useless to the

the age of extinction

the fretting over every living thing begins with the clone of a clone of a clone the scent of ivory washing out souls that make us whole birds of paradise turn into fossils the gap of feathers reside in mud and sand from hill and cave they document lacunas that are only evident when tides