By CJ Sommerfeld, Staff Writer
before leaving
I overheard a man say
when I get to a new space
I climb to its highest place
a bird’s eye view of the new environment
will be waiting
so I climbed on top of the highest sandhill
from all directions masses
of dijon and khaki
confronted me
a dirt that inhales like cinnamon
a dirt that blends into unshaven legs
sparkling in the still desert sun
you mistake your shadow
for a daffodil dune
everything has blended into a depthless
monochromatic disfigurement
of cream corn clouds
Remember: Out n back
the desert hippy gave me one piece of advice
the first: Out n back
A silence interrupted by the past’s echoes
distorted by the flax hued shapes
wealthy tourists drive in from Perump or Palm Springs
trombone shiny vehicles
and shoes that don’t belong in this barren land
shoes that would bring you out but not back
Where’s Waldo?
I wish I wore those beige tearaways
that old, retired people wear
they won’t eye me, can’t engage
this dust bowl they upstage
the desert hippy gave me one piece of advice
the first: Out n back
