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Utah I feel the fossils watching us with eyes So old they've turned to stone no more to blink. With tears so dry, like disappearing ink, Glazed, they gaze through the haze of all our lies With sighs and cries for feasts that satiate. So we speed faster on the interstate, Because we know they'll be no moon tonight, Because we know we cannot bear the fright, Because we know of not one thing that quells The memories emanating from ours cells Of those black nights when all the fires failed, The crunch of bones, the shredded flesh impaled On a tiger's saber tooth, screams from Hell. All this we know too well but dare not tell. |
Additional Notes:
Ever been way out in the desert on a moonless night, wondering about those sounds coming from somewhere out in the darkness? This sonnet was inspired by the Utah section of Interstate 70 on a recent driving trip from Southern California to North Central Indiana occasioned by a bout of cultural and personal madness. Things are much better now but I don't know if that's because I'm in laid back, small town Indiana or because I'm taking the psych meds again!
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