Chart a course to Starbucks.
Keep an eye out for bathroom crashers.
Hub of liberal-o-cracy, just a haze away
from Monument Mountain,
where the first surveyor's meridian line
was struck in the "arid zone" region,
at the confluence of the Agua Fria & Gila ...
I realize, this is more than just vaguely journalistic,
as a fact, but when you're deceased,
just can't follow the facts. And it's more
than just the loss of fertile soil or irrigated fields,
the flash-in-a-pan for gold roll, now so old,
... here comes the espresso rush, the touch
of Tolleson turned into parking lots
for trucks & gas stations & big boxes
so full of slaves all they can do is crave
the only corporate transactions
this cemented fabrication can provide,
words flowing in every direction,
free as birds, oh, the words, the words ...
See the drift of construction workers
in orange jackets, grimly greeting the morning
central caffeine station, looking for the cosmic bus
right on out of here, past the barrier reefs
of castle-crates big enough for industrious kings
who hot-branded the compromised wetlands
on my two-wheeled alchemical trek
& nobody here is getting wet ...
Who cares what the invisible see?
The Canis Latrans in me still runs free.
- Douglas McDaniel
Tolleson, Arizona
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