March 29th

Heading West on I-40 towards the Grand Canyon—

In pairs they pulled the dawn behind them, wings stretched out. In pairs they flew, bringing the light over the tree tops. Some would call them ordinary but they are a rarified bird indeed; Saturn’s emissary coupling in the predawn glow. “The glow,” she said, “can sometimes be seen, depending on where you stand, on the Western tips before the sun is seen in the sky... don’t miss it.” 

Modern Times

I looked up from where I was seated on the curb of the parking lot in late morning writing about God or goat cheese to see a motorcycle pull into the space in front of me. Leather jacket, green cargo pants and—uh, wait a minute, a yoga mat and glass jar full of water? He takes off his helmet and saunters across the tarmac; peach fuzz for hair and purple sticky mat under one arm. I’m impressed. Leave it to the “least likely” to change the world. 

Devil in the Desert

I saw the Devil last night walking on the side of the highway.

Strait from hell in a red dress ripped to shreds over blue jeans

with hair like Khali. She whore a black hoodie—a cape to shroud

her tendrils. The headlights of my car lit the back of her like a spot

light as this Creature came to life, slouching toward Black Canyon City.

Perhaps she has a date with God,

for when I could no longer see her with the head lights,

my eyes trailed back to find her in my rearview; arms flailing, feet stomping

she tore at that black sweatshirt like she meant to tear it off but to no avail,

I still could not see her face. She was mad as hell and I shuddered as I trained my gaze back to the red taillights and double yellow lines of the highway ahead.

I’m sure it was the Devil. And if that was the devil than God can’t be too far off…