six six six

All change comes

in modesto sun soaked wrinkles

pushed into 

wheat straw symphony folds

of highway foothills.

Nothing town 

on Salton Sea shore;

in cuts of long range focus

and letterbox quick close-up,

he steam engine idles 

through the pine board set

of the town.

Arriving fingered 

in the lux nova

of sun squint eyes,

he trails out kelp bed curls

of black dust wake disturbance.

Mistrust and awe

settle in greasy white pores

of parade route spectators

who had it so good

until their complexion went dim.

The shit's piled up in the breeze.

The lightning struck the pine.

We've all got a little disease.

All change is here.

It's nothing new.

Everybody's concubine 

is on the nod

and turning blue.