streets like deserts

there is no difference
in the bleakness
of the city's streets
and my endless deserts

I prefer streets empty
the pretense gone

ashes ashes we all
live like rain streaming
down old windows

remembering once was
a familiar friend
who spoke quietly
words I've heard before

now memories collapse
like landmines

women look like mountains
on a hazy day

I like the smell of rain
after a long dry spell
when the desert's smell
explodes alive with flavor

don't forget that deserts
aren't empty

their expansiveness accentuates
the diminuitive pieces
belying the distant
and the immanent self