Where sun is a hat coarse sand bruises feet treading between thin bushes and thirsty cottonwood trees, fire ants cross toes without a bridge. I thought the lips, I can't really remember what the lips looked like except it did have lips and we could see it's teeth. The eyes were large eyes but not big round eyes like a horse or a cow but they were large eyes. The hair on it's face was short. There wasn't a whole lot of hair around it's cheeks and down along the side of pulpous white mushrooms shielding earth's metallic spirit. I thought of palpating dark forests, and wondered if I'd ever return.

 

 

There was that sort of pure space before us, into which flowers endlessly open--no, not for a single day-- there's always the interpreted world, and even our abstract realms reflect the trip from New Mexico, making a new home from the shards of an old dream.

 

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