God,
how could she have forsaken me?
Heat
was growing heavy on my sweaty squint and brow
before
I found a last distraction by my lonely pinkened palm tree.
The
desert sun above baked my footprints in the ground.
My
journey sat behind me in my tracks.
But
I did not turn for her for my mind was tuning out
so
the dunes slowly covered up my trail going back.
In
my weakness after traveling the hundred mile line
the
promise of that shade could get me by—
Without
the strength in me to break my pinkened palm’s hard hold
a
bond grew out of bliss that was pleasure from on high.
The
lust, the gasps, the smooth skin flashed upon my fingers
when
the sadness had me on that heaven high,
it
just left me sliding down by the old screen’s tangled cords so
I’d
be hiding there forever from the angels brushing by.
With
no friends or feeling left to grip a helpful thought around
my
pace was going faster on each swell.
And
as I came down tripping from my climaxes and highs
I
realized in my loneliness how far I’d slipped and fell.
No
future for a solo junky was bright enough for sun,
for
the shade had made me pale by my tree.
Now
my desire’s always firing—craving constantly,
yet
I never saw how much it made a ruin out of me.
Now
pleasure’s poison burns and drags my sadness out
and
the shakes snake up a wild lightning.
The
desert sun has singed my hair like fires on my skin
and
my fantasies are a whirlwind mental—frightening.
Oh
palm, how could you have forsaken me?
--Porter Daryl's Poems
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