“All them saguaros”

Lester Robles



All them saguaros

lined up like guards

in a fugitive

forest, fallacy

symbols, all them

pricks surrounding his

pup-tent pitched behind

alien boulder

protecting him from morning

sandstorms, grit still

in his gums from previous

occasions, what

omen is it now,

Career Offender, who

schlepped rhythm &

prose across state-

lines, you know, “fed”

territory, or post-

cowboy jurisdiction, how

far will he follow

vapor trails & the incessant

yammering of palm

shoots, pebbles, & yucca, how

will he dodge pop-

up checkpoint pat-

downs, smuggling sound

& affect, stanzas on indigo

children & shapeshifters

the slo-mo coup

d’etat plot-twist that

slipped into his blood-

stream, muddying his DNA

enough for new abilities

to wrangle & fuse

ephemera into a marble

slab before chipping

away at the thing

until it’s somewhat another





Lester Robles is a poet from San Diego, California who is now spending some time in an Arizona desert.