Backside of Lips

The cactus was all dried up

weathered and cracked

moisture sucked out by the sun

to feed the 

clouds, growing with every beating breath

Teeth stuck to the inside, back of lips

trying to smile at a passing rider

but lips all fixed into a distortion

all crooked and twisted

out of symmetry

Vocal chords like twin rails

burned hot, parched under

tons of passing steel

utter no greeting, only

dry-dry, dry-dry, dry-dry

until the last car passes

Scent of burning

sage ash rising from a copse

of trees, a hidden camp

white smoke and

stale leaves

Before the breeze

and the water flows.

And flows while the teeth

stay stuck

to the backside of lips.