Stalling in the Desert

There are paragraphs of dense moisture across her forehead
She dances like a maelstrom trophy in the cosmic rusted air
Pretending she knew better than the sand whispers of June
There is no peace here, no present occupation, or doorway into sleep
There is just the pregnant preoccupation with scattered drivels
And morning where no tyrant could bellow like a parked car

There are pictures of what alimony looks like, feathered and taunt
With no distilled pasture lemming skippering to large appeal
No domestic highway pleading for autumn’s rough enclosure
However, there is the light of a bandit with Persephone’s mask
Treasure in the overgrowth forest like two bears in the balance
Sleeping only when the sand appeals to their better nature

There are no dog tags in the desert, they are swallowed candles
Like storming highways that never gave a glimpse of truth
No faltering fathers or stewards of dogma and urban defeating climbs
There is only the desert and it does not want you near, so to cherish decline
Where all the forestry fighters in all the automobiles are tasked
Like bowing wolves that did not know where to find me

In the winds of the August forest, you are stalling in the desert
Like chiming grasshoppers too distracted by the sounds of our marriage
I have climbed this incision before, I know where it does not lead
It does not pardon or enhance one’s view of worldly order
It does not capture the thoughts, it betrays why anyone writes,
To capture the thought and build on it until it takes form

I do know there are dangers in the forest not found in the desert
There is the appearance of wind that flirts with scales of hallmark justice
Like firing torpedoes into the dusk of faulty engines, no Christ for the asking
No patron saint that interferes with one’s factory disposition, charming,
There is not a way to lure God into the picture, except to die, except to die
And in that pose, God takes the form of a dissenting sailor on a rocky boat, off shore