he drove north out of dallas on a tuesday afternoon
the summer wind was sweet in his mouth
as the engine whistled a solitary tune
ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere
among the rocks and the tumbleweeds and the dust
he popped the trunk and he pulled out a shovel
and pumped the dull blade through the earth's tough crust
when he dug up the human skull that was bigger than a basketball
he took one step back
he took one step back
into the sunlight
he stood there by the roadside
underneath the clear blue sky
and ancient stories ran through his mind
as the certain detail caught his eye
there was a pronouned depression along the skull's occipital bone
space burned in the dry june sun
and his forehead dripped like an ice cream cone
he laid the skull down gently in the back seat
and in his mouth the summer wind was sweet
he took one step back
he took one step back
into the sunlight