Boomtown fantasies are nothing but screams.
Pitches too high for human ears. Mountains
too high for their own good. Rocks keening.
Stones shrieking. Dust and finality of dynamite.
Silent county highways and broken, dull drums
that just don’t beat no matter how tight the hide.
From the rubble, a girl with evening eyes,
small enough to survive, pulls pebbles
from hearts of boulders to drop in ephemeral puddles.
Ripples run out of room to grow. Dirty birds
stop bathing. Drunk bears stop drinking.
Even ghosts evaporate, thirsty for eternity.
Now they call the old brothel a hostel.
The only difference is half a snake hiss.
Snakes avoid the scene religiously. Venom
is a burden best borne alone. And, the girl –
she stays to soothe shadows with her sunset gaze.
