Raising Arizona

Caught a hot summer updraft outta Sky Harbor,
lifted over the barrios of the sun, the hosed
prostitutes along Roosevelt, where beauty
is as far away as the savior, his hands,
reaching out, graceful, willing to love,
despite all that damned human DNA in his loins,
as a handout, stay quick for a five-dollar table dance,
the only cure for the moon-bounced heat of el sol,
and water, always lacking, strolls on down the street.

The girl trashed the place. Every living, breathing
thing cussed up a torment. Walked right in, kicked her way
through security, demanding money and vengeance;
Which is quite popular for most. Vengeance is hip, right?
`Cause even if unattended baggage gets the evil eye,
we are living in diaphanous times. When the scroll
unrolls, crackling, and the creaking and the blind
call out for reason and the shreiking: O fuck, I`m leaving.
These night lights, flying over Central in wind-blown Phoenix,
illumines the real issue going on here: The lack of rain.

- Telluride, 1996