Geography of wonder

A small travel poem based on my prose...

I drove through a town built on question marks,
where alien murals bloom like desert flowers
and hope hangs suspended in papier-mâché saucers—
fragile as moth wings against the weight of sky.

Here, crazy is just another word for open—
Dolores said this while selling me stamps,
her eyes bright with the weight of tilted worlds,
each iris a compass needle spinnin…