This Grievous World
In an alternate reality, our man Gram nurses a mug
of spiced chai inside an improvised rental
far from the prying eyes of code enforcement inspectors.
Outside in the desert, his tribe assembles a bonfire
beneath the bluffs. He strides out, guitar slung
across his body, in his hand a cigarette.
He flicks it remorselessly into the blaze.
His arms stretch skyward like a Joshua tree
while sparks and ash dazzle toward the stars.
What is this crude thing we call existence?
A psychedelic adventure, an erratic never ending riff
that reverberates into the unknown or is it, perhaps, in
the small truths we tell ourselves about a place called home.
--published by Cholla Needles