Black Rock Wasteland

Death glistens in
the desert like a mirage,
spectors in the diffused shade.
The sun adds a strange glow to the heat.
It has pulled them out into the open.
They spend dangerous amounts of time
away from their towns in the crevices.
The ghosted wind moves the Creosote
and I hear whisperings in the silence.
They hunt and gather in smeltering black seas.
Dust devils sweep by in dreams.

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