Millions upon millions of terracotta suns
bright-suspended in a nowhere-expanse:
we are peerless on rock, yes, like tourists
to sandstone cliff caves near the Gobi Desert.
Or tourists, should there be any, in Barstow,
looking for introductions to Wyatt Earp...
his fabled, snake-populated lost copper mines.
Embattled star systems, Hubble-photography,
The American Dream (Woolworth-'n-Topps),
the erased-from-Matthew love interest of Jesus:
then, verily: Dance; let the Dead bury their dead.