my tongue aches from the eye-breaking dry
and the dusty sun drips like a popsicle, spreading
sticky entrails on the scattered hills.
so show me a nicer, natural place
where rain falls like quarters
and lightning lashes as a great
ten dollar bill, greenish on the darkened night.
i want to see flowers
whose petals are coins:
glistening dimes and
and i want to look at the trees
and compare the greens to
the contents of my pockets,
spread into my hands like
i want to eat my money like mangos
and let the juice roll down my chin
i savor the sweet and crunch on spice---
i can never have enough worth;
i can never have enough rain.