Mohave
Out in the desert,
as a wind blows,
she saw in herself,
angst some more.
She could write stories, some of her own, of the past few weeks, some months old.
A cold wind blew her dinner, from those embers as they glow, but she couldn’t care less, she felt sore.
With all the tech around her, to carry or hoard, is it not a lot on your baggage, to lose some, and snore.
Someday with unforgiving loneliness, time will solve it all, as you pass through Mohave, through heat, and cold.