Acquired Graffiti

Bow to the weathered, ever scarred creatures coming into view

Never begin — meekly or obscenely — with I. In the desert, you won’t in singular first survive the bright noon scrutiny. Begin instead with uncured deposits of thirst and ground-up quartz — then add to your spell beguilements of promised rain as you swoon, cupping stolen twigs of creosote against your face, breathing in thunderstorms past and future present — thin but steady streams of nourishment on which all imperiled epiphanies depend. Then bow as the Ego never can — bow to the weathered, ever scarred creatures coming into view all around revealing points, curves, fragmented geometries forming and breaking delusions of shade or shelter. You are giving way to more subtle stature — ready, absorbing their blazing stamina like a fine, acquired graffiti on your skin, testifying somewhat sparingly that you did indeed exist. In finite texture, you were both separate and a part of this.