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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact

"High Desert" (by Joe DiMino)

That fear
(Emptied of contents)
Naturally comes 
With the oils gone
And the itch back-

Not as the first, that of youth propelling…

Now dryness,
Scales hardening away 
No longer their pots
Tipping toward time;

Yet the writer
Was never one
Daunted by near emptiness,
A blank page
As a high desert landscape
One seeks large cracks 
To tiny crevices
Encouraged by cacti
And a moving shadow
From something quite live 

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