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
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.