desert trio

sun drizzles down from a too-bright sky, soaking
him to the vein, then running through, like hot
hypodermic needles squirting liquid relief
from imaginary aches & pains.

mouth all teeth grit, and if heat could
scorch bone, he’d be
a barbeque pit, sizzling meat.

every hair on his legs singed
off, smoked, curled and now
smelling of burning flesh, or
how he might feel on a bad trip,
fire on the inside.