This is the land where tomato is king.
In August, loaded semis sway round the curves
of every freeway on-ramp, spilling fruit.
Scarlet and orange litter the verges
shreds of dried skin, burst and sun-baked to leather
the tattered robes of dead kings.
The valley breathes, like dogs panting,
humidity splashed with the vinegar of spoilage.
Hungry crows celebrate the mass regicide.
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
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