Giggles germinate and grow like goose grass in between my synaptic gaps, neurons now a hunk of handicapped hash brown yap. Inside, I can’t think. Inside, the smell of juniper vibrates within my joints until July joins June in a kiss; trapped until the cicadas kreek!kreek! summer’s hot, dry karaoke. When I finally lie with my legs in the light, the loudest sound the sound of my mind melting over lime stone to mix with rusty mud. Outside, nestled beneath mesquite, napping near palo verde, nose in the ocotillo: outside open sky open lungs open: I can’t breathe out.