The Desert’s Bald Head

by bobbymillerwriting

Echoing out from clumps of hair

so thin yet present,

last years autumn


the Desert’s bald head

domes out

rising from inherent wisdom


whose voice is caught gentle winds

between whistling rock and empty air

and that secret corner of stone


always chanting

you can learn something here


a life-story that came out

186 million years from the hot birth

in sticky underground pools

until the land finally pushed away

showing phaneritic, and plutonic and orthoclase feldspar


the faded cranium

grown over with liver spots

striking bright green or orange or even teal

clinging lichens

against the sandy-red pigmented hide


springs of vitality stored deep

treasures, lying under sandy oaths

and cached beneath boulders,

given away by the shamelessness of life



of waterways and washes

running their way

round the rune


now thickened from a lifetime’s marriage

with the sun


despite my immaturity

I make the adulterous advance

courting that skull

that throne, that cell

and feel wrong at coming late

but asking


walk on, licking my lips

in salted memory and longing