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If I confess anything, it'll be the world
tastes good. Bike rides on the highway
beside semis passing saguaros in an areola
of flowers & a ra^lesnake's infrared search
for body heat involve my thirst
at the trough-the dowsing rod dipping,
a moon tugging the aquifer's mouth.
I walk into the desert & it changes
my name. I see a damn turn on its spine,
fish on...