Tucson Mountain Chaos

Decomposing granite, rhyolite, cleaving gabbro

Red to gray to yellow to purple

The story told in stone lies mute

To the dumped executed

Body lying broken

In the glass at the end of 36^th street.

A sweat lodge in a white man’s yard

Waits for the volcanic grandfathers

Outside architectural innovation

Written up in Fine Homes –

Towering glass, big money

Five star wines in

The foothills of the

Gourmand’s taste.

Bald gangbangers

Test the mettle of a wannabe

Who breaks the jaw

Of a boy on his way to serve

As acolyte to a perverse

Priest.

Blood is a tagger’s

Spray paint masterpiece.

Saguaro ribs knock fruits

Held sacred fermented into wine.

A mountain lion lolls in the sun inside

A walled enclosure.

Eyes to the sky

Extend above the ridgeline

A phallus looking

For answers

Deep space

Dark energy.

A truckload of revelers rolls

Off the highway

Helicopters chop

The victims to intensive care

Before sending them back

To adobe homes with no light or water.

E Etoi sits atop Babo watching

The streams of coeds on their way

To the sea

Drinking pink

Dacquiris.

A farmer speeds over Picture Rocks Pass

On his way to the mall

In search

Of a wife.

Gates close with finality

After the baby blue Beamer joins

The fleet

At the entry to a house

With a sunken living room

Overlooking the pool

In front of the unsullied range

Rising to the high country

Of radio antennae

Above Tucson.

All of us partake of water

From the Earth,

Breathe air belched from showroom

Convertibles  and broken pick-up trucks

Of the landscapers

Who keep the yards of the propertied

Clean and tidy and safe.

A foot in on the throat of that

Which cannot speak

Grinds the heel

In a dream of emptiness.

This illusion is a wonderful

Elixir.

Pass the jug.