It's blisteringly dry.
Martian, winedark, overweight -
No lawns on this mesa of millet-baked pie,
To make this crater straight.
No spades here, no scraping rake.
Just sharp sticks, blood-bricked mortar.
Berbers camp here for old time's sake,
But can't stay; as there's no water.
In this sahara's nape,
There sinks this winderly dome.
Winedark, martian, squat-blooded black grape,
The Nomads' ruined home.
Its winedark walls're...
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