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yup, the weekend, in case you miss it.

Hot, I know why dwell on a subject. I can not fix it, I did not do it, just reporting things as I see them. At times, you just got to let the inner Poet out to ramble for a bit, and I'm letting him loose.

Morning air

Still as a dead man’s breath

Soft as a midmorning star


desert blanket covers the land.

Santa Ana's, bluff and harsh

Announce their arrival

In brazen sounds of wind,

Assertive in Their dominance

Strident in passing.

Ghosts of sand,

of Indians, Spaniards and western lore.


This heat has no sounds

No pulse, no malevolence

Even As it takes breath,

Draws all moisture

And in sepulchral silence,

bears all

To parched and weary ground.

I'm old enough to get away with this, Have a groovy weekend!

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