This is just a bull snort and fly’s ass on the Rio Grande
fine and dandy, that’s the Milky Way
what’s erasing the mesas? What’s out there
waiting for us?
What abomination lurks in the sagebrush?
In ten thousand years, they won’t know what carved
the canyon—a river or man,
and our boring skeletons will confuse the kids.
You still hope for gold and I still spit for shine.
The dead lizard is yours and the rock is mine.
Take me back to mountains and miracles. See
the seashells on the desert floor. My mistake was
I forgot this was Texas. We are just breakfast
for something bigger. A cowboy cries. Tribes
can’t name satellites but track their moves.
Who’s looking down at us?
Who else knows what we know?
“Alien” supposes loneliness.
“Alien” supposes something better.
I’ll remember you if you remember--
I’ll bury you if you’ll bury me.
Chance Dibben is a writer and performer living in Lawrence, KS. His work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Split Lip, Reality Hands, Squawkback, Horsethief, Kiosk, as well as others. Find him online @chancedibben