Tubac Southern Arizona
Forget about Tucson. It has been eaten. People I care about are trapped there in their cars.
We are wasting away just north of Nogales. We are happy hour humbled by the naked truth of unoaked chardonnay as our enlightenment gateway.
The cowboy here is so long ago. The standin stuntman for cowpokes is the resort, the snowbirds digs, then a road, and a riot of Border Patrol vehicles, and never forget the artists, all the deluded desperados who ended up here and for reasons they no longer so certain as they once were.
Edward Abbey was made of brooding. His dusty hopes were all west of here in Arivaca. Abbey’s melancholy was sacrament. He worked His will by word.
Skunk are in full odiferous bloom. Scorpion are in hibernated bliss. Love and adore them all, Edward Abbey especially.
We are beyond Starbuck salvation. We are immigration station bound, star filled- did you ever see so many inexplicables… masquerading beneath a canopy of illicit drug mule trains?
There is no innocence in this era. We are now all dutifully connected to the immeasurable sorrows of what humanity can put on a front page.
If your scar was soul and if soul was desert? What fool bird would you come back to be? I choose raven. They are fat here. They laugh. They have a sense of humor. And they can eat anything.