The poet has said before that if he could live anywhere in the world, it would be near the Morongo Valley in California, where the hot dry winds from off the scrub desert near Joshua Tree blast unrelentingly, stinging with dry heat and sand. As we continue our transcription of his works from Authors Den, we encounter this work of self-flagellation, as he beats himself up for having been unable to save his second marriage and uses the image of the winds in the valley as a dovetail to Old Testament laws regarding false prophets.
Flesh Fails
there comes a time when flesh fails
and will alone is not enough
to stand second to the encroaching dust,
the crust cracked.
at the base of the Morongo Valley
I will stand until the howling sands
find nothing left to wear away
and memory fades.
words are just words
dreams are but imaginings
and false prophets are to be stoned,
even if by grains of sand in the wind.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
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