Listening for Summer’s Hot, Dry Karaoke

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.

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