I trail the starved aged caves of Santa Fe looking for cactus Indians, who they say are all dry, who belly sharp stones at the slow motion spiders, the Indian chained women laughing at swollen Deer, the inept Medicine Men who can't find the cure, for Monkey Blood Spells, for sharp sky nights, the thunder screaming gods unseen, who haven't shown their faces in awhile, lost they say to White gasping smoke coughed up the Santa Fe trail, followed by the Madness Men and the age scented women, gray scarves, misery apparent, the long road driving to Santa Fe hasn't changed, the vulture acrobats still twirl the artist starved deserts, time for Plan B, men kissing men kissing men kissing women, all run by the Madness Men, the Romansch twisted, the Basque and Tlingit sailors in mist, the fog of the Whales Walls, the Whales Balls, Ginsberg and Kerouac didn't tell me about this, they didn't show me the warning sign,
BEWARE OF THE ALIEN CRATERS
The orange sky exploded, red circles bounced, shining alcohol poisoned, the naked bone trail
The Madness Comet smoked
The planets aligned except Saturn
Pluto died in the Nebula Cloud of Geronimo
Jupiter smashed the Opera House
just as I exited the highway
toward Santa Fe