Cleansed Of Civilized Grit

Cleansed Of Civilized Grit
© Surazeus
2024 11 27

Grit from factories and steel mills pervades 
sinews of my soul with star-flashing chains 
that bind my soul to engine of my car 
I drive on asphalt highways of desire 
that leaves flakes of my memories by the road 
where they sprout into time-enduring weeds. 

Hot waves of sunlight beat the pavement black 
when I park at gas station in the desert, 
and drink hot water from the plastic hose, 
while flies buzz around my sweat-plastered hair, 
and gas fumes vibrate against my parched face 
as I fill tin tank with fuel for my quest. 

Rubber wheels grind gravel on dusty road 
that winds wide around desolate orange buttes, 
slipping as I maneuver bouncing car 
past crowds of cactus and clumps of mesquite 
to baked-clay ruins of some ancient town 
built long endless thousands of years ago. 

I hear no western-movie guitar twang 
eerie with danger when I stride thin path 
between stubborn walls of now-empty homes 
full of skeletons that crumbled to dust, 
to climb steep mound dizzy with anxious hope 
for panoramic view of river plains. 

I half expect the turtle resting still, 
cool under tangled mat of purple aster, 
to ask me for the purpose of my quest, 
but no supernatural sprites visit me, 
so I tell ghost of the wind why I came, 
but she just kisses me with subtle breath. 

My quest to find true spirit of this world 
fails to impress the turtle or the hills, 
so I relax in meditative stance 
and breathe deep hot air of the desert soul 
while palming hands before my beating heart 
to release constraints of imagined fear. 

When twilight casts dark purple veil of faith 
to shroud my soul among the ancient ruins, 
I see emerge from shadow of the world 
demonic owl-shaped figure with gold eyes 
that soaks my anxious visions from my mind 
till I shiver empty under bright stars. 

Waking at thin gleam of pink light at dawn, 
I look around for traces of the owl, 
but sense with courage of forbidden truth 
her immortal spirit dwells in my heart, 
so I descend dim mountain of the demon 
and drive home well cleansed of civilized grit.