This morning for one reason or another I was up at dawn. And sunrise is a great time to look around for strange and interesting light effects.
My cactus garden was very bright in the morning sunlight.
And it was strange, too.
My cactus garden was very bright in the morning sunlight.
And it was strange, too.
It’s a new year in the cactus garden
and while I’m dreaming of Los Angeles
they’re dreaming of the sands of San Jose
and road runners, locusts and rattlesnakes.
The real wild. The world outside the window.
They’re twenty-first century cactus plants
and they don’t feel bound down where their roots are.
“Look at that Sun,” I think one cactus said.
“Anywhere that Sun shines is home for us.”
“That same Sun shines on Mars,” I pointed out.
“But on Mars,” a cactus said, “we wouldn’t
see road runners, locusts and rattlesnakes.”
“But think what we might see,” another said.
It’s a new year in the cactus garden
and the current cactus migration plans
call for me to get to Los Angeles
by way of the shifting red sands of Mars.
The twenty-first century wild outside
the real window is becoming unbound.
and while I’m dreaming of Los Angeles
they’re dreaming of the sands of San Jose
and road runners, locusts and rattlesnakes.
The real wild. The world outside the window.
They’re twenty-first century cactus plants
and they don’t feel bound down where their roots are.
“Look at that Sun,” I think one cactus said.
“Anywhere that Sun shines is home for us.”
“That same Sun shines on Mars,” I pointed out.
“But on Mars,” a cactus said, “we wouldn’t
see road runners, locusts and rattlesnakes.”
“But think what we might see,” another said.
It’s a new year in the cactus garden
and the current cactus migration plans
call for me to get to Los Angeles
by way of the shifting red sands of Mars.
The twenty-first century wild outside
the real window is becoming unbound.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Blinded By The Science Of Migration
This Space, Here
An Unclear Story About Walking To Mars
Ghosts Aren’t What They Used To Be
Freedom From The Wild/Lost In Metonymy
My Cactus Plants Hate My Pants
Blinded By The Science Of Migration
This Space, Here
An Unclear Story About Walking To Mars
Ghosts Aren’t What They Used To Be
Freedom From The Wild/Lost In Metonymy
My Cactus Plants Hate My Pants
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