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Larry D. Thomas
The Desert Heat
(far west Texas)
is upon us, scorching our eyes
like the dry heat-blast
of a quickly opened oven.
How even the vultures survive it
is a mystery, their dark swirls
filling the sky like black dust devils.
The deer dig scrapes beneath mesquite,
lying down in clouds of dust.
The yuccas thrust their sword-shaped
leaves into the sky, defiant
as Beethoven on his deathbed,
challenging God with his raised fists.
Not Even Playing
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