Wasted Lands Etched by Burning Hands

Wasted lands etched by burning hands.
Water drips from the veins,
                               nucleus,
                               carbon,
                               plasma, at
                                              the
                                                   bottom
                                                              of
                                                                  a
                                                                    river.
Standing at earth's edge, nomads stalk
the wells gorging on drink.
And before the fog  a
stallion life absorbed by the swollen sun.
Into lands... 
Indians,
rock warriors,
petroglyphs,
hiding places where we'd party smoking grass,
having sex; drinking until day break- effigies in the long
shadows of morning- waiting for phoenix to wake.
Outside Tucson a man dies of exposure his
car is burnt as a warning. The desert carries no survivors.
Mexicans cross the river at night caught in the gun's sight.
Blasphemy,
burning churches,
opium princess,
speed freaks,
Dead is dead.
Night swims naked in the black water teaming with fishes
devouring the muscle of our youth. Age in regression now...

Wet behind ears.
Dogs attack testicles and I am robbed of child and of hood.
far-out, man but I hate to leave you this way... But I leave.... and I hate.