The red road is saturated- full of undiluted predictions from false prophets on meth.    All I know of thunderstorms and the northern lights, sunken pirate ships and dinosaur bones could fill the void between start and finish ; I, the barefoot trailblazer of patchwork verse, mixed media of used dreams, bubbled resin, dried paint, broken beach glass, pebbles from comets, weaver of words – trip with me down the red dirt road from Palestine to Turtle Island.