boom booms, a take back.opening crawl through.
strobe lights twirling.we're poised. (hid). smiles Flash
cutup light. Oh yeah
that's a shimmy of the shins. Revolverswe
rasp. wrists, ribbed pecs off-rift.
shimmer up. twitch-ty muscle astral
gates. eye whites bang bangcrying arm.
It's summer in Tucson and I'm a toufffie without AC in a straw and mud house-me, destined to die plunging the sun. I write all night and bike in the 4:38 sun-rising mountains and shoot down curvy Gates Pass at 47 mph.
My skin glistens gold, salty. Yesterday I gave away clothes and I'm naked and skip across the yard as the chickens chatter, ignoring skin dark like dunes as they scratch for green made from 114 drops of water called rain.
I dream of snow and lighting frying. Boom. Crash. RUMBLE. Clouds in the sky and I'm almost claustophobic driving like skating down a gentle slope toward a sky so big it takes it all, tip of my nose to tiny mountains, half-dozen metro buildings so distant.
smell gray clouds krinkling. I roll and the sky is a round ceiling and I get
close to the pink wash dividing mountains from storm. Suddenly what was tiny
looms the whole sky like a peaked audience and I stop to read outloud. The BOOMS
are boos or applause. I'm not sure which and shutup and watch the light show.