the granular desolation he dreamed might have been accompanied by the first many stanzas of the Moody Blues Procession those early bars of falling rain would have offered him solace

 

the desolation was unremitting blowing dust shifting footing burnt-out standing hulksscorched tree trunks charred limbs scattered beneath them 

there were no plants

the only thing he heard above the stillness and the quiet was his footsteps on loose gravelpowdered clay

he quit talking to himself he only had so much water  speaking parched him

when rare brown winds spasmed he quickly covered his face with a scarfdropped to the ground with his back to it

sometimes he had to dig hollows with his hands hide his head in them constantly push the ravaging particles and clots downwind that tried to refill them so he could breathe

when the wind fled and the sky cleared it remained the colour of amber a marmalade then he didnt think marmalade because it made him hungry and his provisions were lean 

time had no meaning

he quit counting his footsteps because they were a measure of now unrecorded time

he wasnt interested  he walked until he was tired and laid down and slept  when he woke he began walking again 

that could have been a measurement of time had he chose to count how many times he fell asleep 

                                                                                                       he didnt

 

walking he suddenlystopped

                                 something broke the aridness he inhaled moisture closing his eyes he saw blue moisture

he turned slowly counterclockwise trying to identify where the moisture seemed most pronounced

then with his eyes still closed he committed he walked towards where he felt the blue moisture was

 

much later he thought he heard water it giggled as only water canno matter the circumstancesno matter the horror or sorrow or banality  

when he opened his eyes he had to wipe crust from them before he could see clearly

good thing he had

he was at elevation

the horizon sat heavily on its edge not a hundred metres off 

he stood at the edge of a steeplyslanted cliff at its foot was an irrigation canal narrow brown ponds were hyphenated by lengths of gelatinous mud veined by dribbling runlets

the cliff face appeared looseunsubstantial so he walked one way then the other before he found where the cliff veered sufficiently away from the canal so if he lost his footing and tumbled the violence wouldnt accelerate and the earth avalanche wouldnt sweep over and cover the canal

fortunately he made it down without incidentbut for a few slides 

he walked along the canals edge looking for the clearest pond or deepest runlet to refill his bladder  slake his thirst

then he sat and talk to himselflaughed out loud at his miraculous fortune 

                                                                             a miraculous fortune amid draconic unexplained misfortune

 

he knew the definition of the word desolation from out of a dictionary 

that was not really knowing it

1037,  Twosday,  6  4. 21

Moody Blues  Procession  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Drn5Q6drHuo

 

when he looked at hints he scribbled for himself meant to refresh his memory (to remind him of crippled trees that were baseball boundaries when he was a boy bulldozed by a huge blue dually tire work truck that was hidden in boughs of a vibrant healthy tree  it backed out and crept down to the ground) 

                                                                     he didnt remember  they were memories stored 0224 Reggae Friday  8 November 2019  rites of passage  what was he supposed to make of that a year and a half later or at 0239 the same morning  redheaded pharmacist  condoms  her daughter (actually there was a lot there – he could fabricate something with those bits of bread scattered to find his way back  either as Hansel or Gretel – playing that out would be fun) 

               then directly beneath the redhead was also the butchery of a Polish name for chow chow or kindalike the chow chow best known in the southern United States  he wrote kouru mooru fuck if he knew  his grandmother forbade any of her grandchildren to learn Polish  all her children spoke it  actually it was very effective  children have big ears  they love to listen in on adult conversation  yet all the adult conversation happening over his head as he grew up was in Polish  clever Babci  but one knew that if they spent any time with her 

                                                                              matriarch was written all over her

anif someone doubted that shed set them straight in a heartbeat she didnt mince her words  she was assertive

his mother was assertive

guess whaYUP  he was assertive 

AwBrother  whawas he supposed to do with this mishmash 

                                                                 scribbled  fortunately he could read his handwriting

he was going to have a drink and think on it

push comes to shove hed bastardise it 

something he was good at that

hed twice answered the door to young people who said  Hello. My momma told me you’re my father.

Thats a peach Yathink the least she wouldve done was told me   Huh

1238,  Monday,  5  4. 21