One hundred seventeen degrees. It may be that someday this lush green valley will be a desert. After all, it was once covered with ice.
Yesterday we saw someone driving a big noisy pickup with flames painted on its sides. The bed was full of his beliefs and opinions, some of which blew out and were scattered along the roadside. He ran the light at Apocalypse and Ego, then sped on, out of sight.
June 29, 2021
[ 1149 ]
Categories: New Poems & Pieces