1.6.15

hog heaven

the only bright thing lay ahead of us; coupla clouds
shot-thru by the only two visible beams of light for
miles, laser sharp eyes of an angry god castigated
the green milk of the rio bravo, cooked a chorus of
giant river cane, and perforated limestone bluffs on
either side which Reed, our mustachioed guide
explained are but tightly compressed souls
of long dead, sunken animals. 

a lone cottonwood graced sandy loam on up the
shore with its casual indifference, its lower trunk
rendered barkless, a prone boys wrinkled scrotum
on which graffittoed grooves left by feral hogs &
javelinas tuskatillos spelt ohm in ten thousand
shade tongues.