Thursday, November 26, 2015

thirsty words

Gulch was always a thirsty word. Course, given enough time out here, they all become thirsty.

Gulch, though, it seems so wet, but they’re all so fuckin’ dry. ‘Til that long missing rain crashes down. The damned things’ll smash ya to wet bits then.

I can almost remember when it rains, and wakes me up. When me ’n the toads crawl outta the sand, and start to bloom like flowers on thorns.

When my mouth ain’t so damned dry, when the fire inside lulls down to a smolder, I can almost remember what I done, what I was before. I’ll shake wet sand from my beard and squint at the subdued sun.

When there’s water still in the air, I don’t thirst so much, so much. Never been sated, I reckon. Done did somethin’ hateful to my kin, I s’pose. Can’t remember what.

Don’t expect I’ll ever by wet enough to know, living enough to understand.

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