I'm sitting on the edge of time, ma friend...
Its cold, but the stars keep my eyes warm
under a tent of glitter-dust wanderlust
--There's a purple horizon
I want to go on as far as the desert view - forever
Its a philosophy
Dry winds whip my trailer windows - sandy, raspy breath
god-forsaken howling
coyotes? or the ribcage skeleton-cars begging for the return of their skin?
The spirits speak in whispery tongues
their fir flavored ideas - out loud -
spinning, dancing, in tongues, they sing ceremonial patterns into the neon sky....
Oh, where am I?
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