dehydrated on a primitive road

Primitive Road
Primitive Road

six miles
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
defiant of the heat
mocking my body’s desire for rest

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


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s