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

 

age-wrinkles

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

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