Rants. raves and ramblings from celestial circles . . .

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I love the deserts and oceans.

It’s pretty deep this poem.

It’s not how long you live, it’s the quality of life that counts.

The world is a drug.

If you live a good life

you should never be afraid of dying.

 

Now . . . I can’t remember what I said.

Is that New Wave poetry?

The deserts are deep.

How much is hidden below the sands?

How many worlds past?

How many places and people we could never even imagine?

We know the world of the water.

The ocean is fish eat fish.

Do we really want to be able to swim underwater?

Ask an octopus.

Beautiful blue and green

and then black

and then iridescent.

And it’s still fish eat fish.

Beautiful world of water.

 

The desert is death.

Nothing lives.

Except camels

drinking at the oasis.

A lonely sand worm.

Nothing else lives in the desert.

For miles and miles

dunes and flats.

The beauty of the colored dunes

in the sunset toward night.

The desert is a beautiful place.

Except at night.

Life lights up.

The lonely scorpions and snakes

own the desert at night.

Nothing lives

where there is no water.

Except the camel I embrace and clutch

every step of the way

through the sand and the wind

to savor the drop

of moisture on the rock.

The desert is a lonely place.

 

An expanse

as humble as the sea

on a remote island

or in a boat on open water.

A deadly place.

The oasis of cool trees and fresh cool water

along the long stretch of desert.

Remote.

The camel is my boat.

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