The last rat-assed piece of logic has been filed away in the electronic netherworld. Whether it all hooks together is somebody else's problem now. I've stuffed my head for half a year with arguments about this and opinions about that, some of it written down and all of it running from room to room in my head.It's time for the great beyond. I've got places to go where nobody knows or cares if I'm wearing pants. That big white moon, the smell of hot dirt and thirsty sagebrush, a dicky hen running like a dinosaur, covered in the brush, making sounds like a damn rattler.
I expect to be hot. Hope to be. Maybe blister up a bit along the neckline, tempt cancer with the naked top of my ears, eat some grit. Then toward sundown when all that heat is still shimmering up off the desert flats but shadows are lying down to bed I'll pull some beer from the galvanized tub wrapped in gunny sacks under the trailer - two, maybe three. The tops pop and the first one goes all the way down without a rest. That pain grows in a knob there between your eyes so you just shut em and breath the rest of the heat of the day up through your nose hairs and you smell night. It ain't arrived yet but it's comin'. And when your head stops throbbing you crack open your eyes with the next beer and think about dinner and through the slits of your eyes you look out where you ain't been yet.
Looking West Near Hickison Pass, Nevada. Toiyabe Range on the Horizon
