dehydrated on a primitive road

Primitive Road
Primitive Road

six miles
alone
the last car in the dirt parking lot
the only person
exposed to the dry sun

nothing but me
a hard baked trail
and the echo of orzabal poetry
as the shadows of my lifted fingers call the cadence:
one, two, three, four

legs turning
mechanically
rhythmically
defiant of the heat
mocking my body’s desire for rest

racing downhill
never feeling better
flying
singing
screaming across the wilderness:
“faith can move mountains
fire can cleanse your soul”

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