The stars traced long arcs
The coyotes howled in the dark
And the spirits came out to play.
Between great granite stones
Haunted by the wind's quiet moans
Went we, somewhere ne'er touched by day.
And oh god, how we feared
Yea, even he with the manly beard,
That this Chasm would spell our Doom.
Asked now, I could not guess why
Under that forlorn night sky
Sought we such an earthy - and perchance early - tomb.
Yet with the situation frightfully grim
And our headlamps seemingly so dim
Onward journeyed we; left, right, up, and down.
Then above, the bright stars of Joshua Tree.
At last we were finally free!
The next day we ate pizza in town.
So, a few nights ago in Flagstaff, Arizona, I was having my parting dinner and drinks with the Megs and Matt Steele. Mr. Steele notified Megan that she had recently had her debut on the blog, then proceeded to give me shit (albeit affably) about writing incredibly mundane "then this, then that" prose in that post. "You even left a comment telling people not to read it! What's the point?", he said.
So here Matt Steele. I wrote you a fucking poem. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
Shots are of Phil, Amy, Andrew, and Michelle.