Color Like Salmon

Snowed today in Vegas and it looked like ash, the color of dirty cat paws, I thought well… I’m not as sick as then ’cause I’m smoking again. Hey look. Wise man here is holding a bottle of green peace. A dollar for the dream, and we keep dreaming of the dollar but it’s the dolor we need to worry about. He doesn’t believe in God. Neither do I but there’s very little to believe if you don’t believe in yourself. Hey. Words in reverse. It’s late for an early riser. Too tired to play games, make-believing that longevity’s a brisk walk to the gas station for a pack of smokes; it could be too late and then we’ll have to watch the wild tumbleweed go as we’ve never seen it before. Frightening cold in this desert. Last time it snowed in Malibu. Believe it. Cold, feverish, even with every single damn spot of clothing on, entire suitcase emptied out to cover these bones. Stomach flu or something deadlier. Did you hear about the fossilized embrace, two crumpled skeletons found in each other’s arms, dead for 5000 years beneath a ton of rock and dirt. I thought. Yea. When’s the last time anyone’s hugged like that? I thought. Hey, there’s ash in my ash and how great it would be to be young with the wild sunflowers bursting in the heat and to be writing with windows flung open to all the summer cicadas singing, and you wait for the wayward wind to bring pause to each sentence. No. You’ve never seen a whippoorwill crash into the sill and never want to but with a squeeze like that, well, bury me south of here and I’ll stay down. Down into dissonance. Quit trying, just hit the lights, and hey. There it goes. Everything I put in me comes oozing back out. Food, the water, light, and grace. It’s night now. Is that what they say? When you’re sick, only the darknesss stays in. So you see, it snowed today and it caught my breath. Standing out with an ache in my throat and all that ash blowing into my face, melting and made me well, made me well enough to stand, and gonna stand beside the road and might never go home. Tumbleweed away. Maybe. I never want to go anywhere, anymore, never leave the roadside, gonna be a crumpled skeleton hugging the earth.