18 Jun 2017 – Loco Land

For me that land of dust and sun
from River Red and stretching South
to Mexico – you know the one –
dry limestone ringing Hades mouth –
the anvil where God’s hammer falls –
where hearts grow hard so they won’t break
and demon-haunted whirlwinds call
and every native skull was baked.
For me that loco land was Hell,
where rattlesnakes wore cowboy hats.
There’s nothing preachers couldn’t sell –
a crate where love leaks through the slats.