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Dry Spell

We bite the dust every morning, spitting gray powder, like desperados. Firebirds nosedive in forewarning, perverting the trees into hell’s tornadoes. We taste sooted smog on our tacky tongues, dragging all our shadows of remorse. Finding no habitat for our wheezing lungs, we long for the rain’s fecund watercourse. We find Death Valley spreading like a contagion, and dodge parched patches, bruised and baked by sol. So delirious our meandering, we know not our region, our infernal night camps reek of cinder and wood coal. We chant, not knowing the meaning of an arcane lyric, unsure how to summon the recondite eidolon of Seth. As city shells smolder, all chronic hearts await some mantic. Surely hell will freeze over, so we wait with bated breath.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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Date: 9/16/2021 12:24:00 AM
From floods to drought, in two poems you have covered so much. Great reads Thomas, enjoyed them very much.
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Thomas Wells
Date: 9/17/2021 1:57:00 AM
I never thought of the two poems as a pair. But I think it just might work! Thanks again, Scott!
Date: 8/28/2021 10:32:00 PM
This is exactly what we're going through in California. You did a great job describing what's happening here and in other parts of the world.
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Thomas Wells
Date: 8/28/2021 11:34:00 PM
Hey Jennifer, thanks! Wow, you are a fellow Californian enduring the surreal curse! Try to stay well.