MIRAGE (NEVADA MOON)

by Ben Rasnic

Egg yolk moon over Nevada
quivers in the smoky mist
of a bloodshot sky.

Neon bleeds like candle wax.
Gold dust radiates from statues,
glass and sand.

Steady drone
from spinning wheels and show tunes
swells my brain like a cantaloupe.

Hung over, my head is chiseled
full of holes from shots
of Jack Daniels, chinks

of martini glasses, loose
change and the bone rattle
of snake eyes in the pit.

Stars hang in the waning desert sky
like sequin jackets,
moth-eaten and obsolete.