Among the Rocks

It's best to get out there
onto that service road
that dives into the now-
empty creek before
eight. By eight, expect
to be ate by the sun. 
You'll feel sense and
proper tense leave you
as the rocks crack under
the niner sun. There is 
no feeling finer than
the gulch's chasm of 
shadow, the full 
previous umbra.
The pen runs as dry as
this spring flowage as 
noon approaches, and 
the similes that would 
have been available early
are spent by the lazy rattle
of a snake that does not
want to run.