What is this place

What is this place

Where the earth transforms from black silty ooze

to cracked parched tiles

Where plants bow their heads

before the hard white heat

 

What is this place

Where vines grow with tropical vigor

Where the dignity and girth of the trees

means nothing to wind that will shear

and lightning that will crack

 

Where trees and walls and benches

are studded with thin crackling shells

goggle-eyed and ghost legs clinging

their backs hewn open

by the commonplace violence

of life

 

What is this place

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