Desert
I’d never been there before
In all those years.
But drawn to the desert now
I blister the rind off my back
And burn the stench of rot and jungle
Out of me in a swirl of powdered regret.
Not soft like the jungle, no mist to
Deflect, diffuse, obscure, confuse.
Sword-sharp beams cut shadows
Black and vacant, and wash the details
And life out of everything they touch.
Light without mercy, and every beast
With any power to resist, hides in the shadows
To await the dusk. All eating, drinking,
shitting, killing, running and fucking
await the retreat of the blazing sun.
Lizard dry, languid, beaten senseless
By shimmering heat, I cannot yet banish
The stench of death. Having once inhaled it deeply,
I detect the same smell within me,
and can never escape my own mortality.
It bubbles up from my guts. 
Death is inside me, biding its time.
I share it with my dead friends. I deny it no more.
A gift, really. I can’t lie to myself again.
Thanks. Thanks for that.