caked oven sun sculptures

          the sun hit minutes perfect through the sage 

          red and yellow survivors of harsh piercing light

          if I could only survive like they do in the sun

          all my freckles would turn into a patch of paint

          turtles and roadrunners would sleep under my roots

          boots and saddles could pass by my dreaming webs

          iguanas smoking marijuana possibly in this sense

          a seedless burrow like edward r. murrows tense bend

          undualating atom bomb dust before the nightime ends

          st. george himself would leak new secrets to my pollen

          as it sleeps within the morning of all perfect glory drops

          then dries out before the scrub jay cackles about crops

          I love this sandstone shrubless day of heated erasers

          but my sunburn headstone death is well done skin

          cooked like bacon left on caked oven sun sculptures

          the thought of this yellow burning bush just tells less

          evening the score between sacred ground and moses

          as he thrust down the stone tablets in disgusted vessel

          the golden calf like maps on googles satelite tracks

          missed in the star mark before it could jump start back

          unemployment mixed in medium wasted blue wage

          the sun hit minutes perfect through the sage