...

This desert is hostile.
I'd been exposed to it
for crimes made according to
a higher sense of "justice"--
But now these concepts shrink
with the heat of day
as night becomes
and moonlight glares. Where
scorpions fold out
to mate, cleave, and sting
as beetles roll homes
for their progeny.
Cold sears.
And I'm left cradling
under the great machinery
unaware of my toil.
Theirs is unknown even to them!
and Their movement is soundless
while I clutch my knees
to my chest
in hope of warmth.