Slow Rider the dark bay roams the desert's frail blooms kicks out at cactus flowers crimson pears the cholla's dusted golds the slow rider senses one crow's iridescent glow so serene so perfectly folded in death's plaguing peace leaves him no choice but to call to the wounded sun beware beware there is death here wingless in its' cruel wonder stealing before the heat before the shimmer of his casual amusements rob him
reveal the weak colors of what he is the hawk's shadow takes him leaving nothing in his remains

JP Pestana 9. 27. 16