Sunday, November 26, 2006

Twenty-six

Sunday Cringe time folks!


Dry

Anticipating
desert extremes.
The dry cleasing heat
of day,
dry numbing chill
of night.
Without the taste of gasoline
a mellow stink on my tounge
in my nostrils.
Instead
I would that I smell
mesquite smoke
and sage.
A session time with my Maker.

Craving
sharp mornings,
kicking through canyons
sneezing my brains out,
eyes leaking and
I
desire
the desert.

To shed my clothing
run naked and hungry,
howling at sister
Moon.
To desert-starve the toxic waste
of self
and partake of
nothing but canteen,
Sun,
Moon and my Maker.

Enough space to not
to hear myself think.

I
desire
the desert.

4 comments:

Mama D said...

I love it. Poetry boggles my mind. I wish I could write it. I tried in high school, but it wasn't very good.

Robbie said...

Excellent! I can smell the desert. (and feel grit in my naked crevices. Ha! made ya cringe!)

Anonymous said...

Bon,
You make me feel younger...
however Robbie's comment
made me cringe.
(Ha! back to you.) R

Becky..Absent Minded Housewife said...

You desire it, I got it...come on over.