there's a
heat wave
tearing your
insides outyour heart might end up
beating in the palm of your hand
at least you'll put it on ice
to keep it running
down over the
hill
where the
trail beginsthere's a green cluster
dying of thirst
below the outcrops
a small shift
and it'll become another landslide
no one is
guaranteeing
a reprieve or
salvationno one is picking a fight
no one has a magic key or code
everyone is looking over their shoulder
what started out as a weather report
is now ending indeterminate
the last pool
of water
turned out to
be a mirageall the easy riders are gone
leaving at sunrise
no one mentioned a last supper
or a route number
the wind just
picked up
like an oven
door openingfind your best walking shoes
the crows will get you as far
as the graveyard
where the stones stay cold
after that
find a neighbor
& follow the big dipper
--- e b bortz
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