Roaring Silence of Obsidian

Arizona’s northern desert wears a patchy jacket of hand me down foliage cast off by thousands of years
of silence
Half baked mountains observe the asphalt arteries we are pumping thru
Oi, we’re on the run
on the run from boredom
& boredom’s burning coat of years
trailing along the experiential embers
that shine light from your belly
illuminating the naked buried in your skin.
There’s a prickly pear beer top in my pocket
& thousands of miles carrying the silence of obsidian
yet to scratch the record player mind.