I dare say the poetry’s been kicked right out of me.
Done broke the legs off
Smithereens
I collapse
Forfeit with dust between my teeth, taste of a dreamless frontier
Manifest in shambles
A pioneer with a wagon, destined for shelter, found and counted
I dare say the sheen on this life has just about done me in
Been shattering
I’m ruined in the palm of safety
the man’s been sliced through three times
and with reason
aloof is not a free pass
still he walks tall
I wait for the signal that’s coming
a hand shifting to his holster
a motion calling his horse
as the sheriff, I take him to the station
before he’s stopped smiling
read him his wrongs
slam the cage shut
another danger off the sidewalks
it’s just a fact, though
the man’s a stag
he extends long legs in his cell
unaware he’s not at home in bed
the man’s forgotten his hat and his drawl
but he struts right out of prison
dusty, slightly beaten, and ready for the day
this one was sliced before I got to him
I don’t understand how he’s still walking
I keep expecting a duel
to see his boots kick up dirt in a proposition
reminding me who runs this town
this man is not trying to be an outlaw
i’m gonna stay the sheriff
keep order
he’ll look out the window at me
while i patrol imaginary 1881
suddenly noticing he smells like
uncharted territory
good day for a dip, i think
neck deep at least
tangle my feet in the boulders beneath
probably slip all the way under
drop to the bottom of eternal sadness for cover
sink and wonder
a swim through the swamp of woes
where the vast nothingness roams
cast a net for those crumbling dreams, or…oh
nevermind the dip, i’ll splash in my tears
it’s familiar here; getting wet never felt better
enter my give-up era
There’s no depot here, if you’re looking for it.
It didn’t burn down or go out of business. It just wasn’t ever built.
Trains pass through, but they won’t stop.
Hi.
This is where I’m from. It’s in the middle of nothing yet.
Maybe something is coming soon.
If you need a taxi to the next town over where the trains stop, you’ll have to keep walking. Or maybe you should run.
I’m here
I said to the ladybug next to my fist
then took my hand from the bar
dropped my hat onto a stool
unfastened my holster
I started to yell that I was a butterfly
The bug fluttered, walked away
I poured a beer anyway
slung off my belt
turned down my brim
Well, it got hard, I’ll tell you something, it got rough
The list of disappointments was finally enough
The road was surely rocky and the finish line so far
But I grabbed my things and left anyway and found myself a bar
Recent Comments