“Don’t be an ass….”
I wouldn’t bet any vital body parts on it, but I could swear that I heard the guy on the far left whisper that phrase to the person on his immediate left when I asked them out loud if they were all related. Nobody responded…they just looked at me…like I was the ass….
drops of morning
before the rains the desert smells like dust and rock
sometimes an unknown metal rides the glands of nose and mouth with searching
and after they come it is sweet with a knowable something
one that you know when you’ve been there and one that you don’t when you haven’t
creosote or greasewood blossoms on a spring morning in the sonora desert north of phoenix arizona
