For Valentines Day

On the Road to Blythe

The desert mountains lie in state like kings,
their skylit faces void of feeling now,
enduring time, and unconcerned with how
their history’s told. Utterly done with things.

The pilgrim semitrailers,  crammed with things,
advance in somber lines, all going Somewhere.
Load, unload, repeat. In arid air,
as wheels drum round and round — a madness sings.

In withered towns beside a strangled stream,
as unwashed children wander on the street,
a wind brings in the rising tide of sand
that will in time submerge this cruel land.
Your kiss, so vivid, tells me life is sweet.
Your kiss, my love, where prophets go to dream.

Karl Stull is a retired copywriter and editor. He began in textbook publishing and moved on to marketing. Now he writes for the love of words.