Under the Desert Moon – Geoffrey Spurgin
May 7, 2009 § Leave a comment
The desert horizon swallows the sun, darkening its stony, shattered teeth into a uniform black set against the blood red sky. It won’t be long before the upper pallet chomps down this dry earth, leaving us in the dark to fear mysteries.
“I god damn that moon! Be not fer it, I’d imagine them stars not like its arid surface. Those stars sparkle like water. . . huh . . . bet they as dry as this here land. Bet I’d prayed on all those sons of bitches one time or another… they was just too far away to know better.”
“You ain’t god damned nothin but yer mother at birth. Now shut it!”
They wouldn’t sleep well, but they’d sleep enough. Enough to live but not live well. They may have been sworn enemies or soul mates; neither could quite tell. One may blame the other for their hurtin’ but it’s no fault of man. Would scare them to death to be apart. No, there was just never enough good to feed two. So both shared and had little and suffered, but they suffered together. If ignorance is bliss, then surely there is a heaven, but these two atheists would never be admitted.