Mojave Ghosts 

 

Songbirds impale lizards on the thorns of Acacia 

feathered breasts bejeweled by jasper 

The shrike unlocks the gecko’s chest  

tiny heart beating in the heat 

spilling its cache of precious gems 

nectar welling from agate eyes. 

 

The cacti are voyeurs 

getting off by watching 

Sentinels immune to the sun 

lending vision to those who wish to see. 

Mirage is no excuse for the things we’ve seen 

and the things we’ve done 

on horizons that flat-earthers claim end in a wall. 

 

There are rattlesnakes in the rocks 

pictographs with big dicks. 

I came out here to scream 

to lose my mind and reclaim my soul. 

 

Hemotoxins raid my veins 

neurotoxins slay my brain 

fifteen milligrams can kill a man 

with asters and marigolds the color of fire 

two to six inches of rain— 

the desert seldom weeps. 

 

I’m dancing to maracas with Mormon tea 

Coke cans from 1980 

bleached the color of corn silk 

wedged in the crotch of a dying desert willow. 

If you stare long and hard, you’ll see 

Mojave ghosts in every Joshua tree. 

 

Bindweed 

 

Look at those legs 

taller than Wembanyama 

clutching at limbs 

and mossy crotch 

mounting her many lovers 

weighing them down with her baggage. 

 

Wedding dress hem 

floral patterned train 

Soft as cotton 

damp with dew 

spidersilk gauze 

panties weighing down the daisies. 

 

Pendulm heart 

Kinbaku from the willow 

broken and snared 

Shibari in the grass. 

 

Her love can grow 18 feet in a year 

roots deeper than a well. 

 

Her appetite can leave you hollow 

pulling away, yet drawing near. 

 

Knots become tighter 

against the struggle 

A tourniquet on the wrist, or ankle 

or neck. 

 

Breathe against the strain 

Take in her luminous blooms 

Let go 

and try to enjoy it. 

 

Unsettled 

 

I see it and of course I cross it 

a bridge across the bridge of her nose 

over eyes that echo astral oceans 

gas giants with lashes 

worlds away as I orbit their mass. 

 

I am one of her many moons, tethered 

to the hem of her dress, weathered 

by the endless pull 

tides at swimming pool parties 

depths that lack a defined surface. 

 

I shine with light that is not mine 

howled at by wolves 

hungry and a little desperate— 

well, hell, I can relate. 

 

And all the planets hover like basketballs 

buzzer-beaters frozen in mid-arc 

immortalized on glossy black 

hanging in the balance 

scores unsettled, victories unknown.