December, 1870*

After the beef was gone,
after the pork and the lamb,
and the fowl and the fish
and the dogs, and the cats,
and the rats in the gutter,
the butchers turned to the zoo.

We ate the wolves.
We ate the wolves
broiled in sauce of deer,
the antelope truffled and terrined.
We ate the camels
with breadcrumbs and butter,
and when they were all gone,
we sharpened our knives
and primed our guns
and came back for the elephants.

The gunsmith Devisme did the deed,
hurled an explosive ball
through each of their docile heads.
They fell like mountains,
like the pillars of Dagon
pulled down by mighty Samson,
and then we hacked them up
and carted them away to the kitchens,
to feed the wealthy and the rich
in the clubs of bright Paris.

none of you understand what i’m saying is i’m not like any of you never married never parented children never owned real estate don’t believe in government the law hate rich people not afraid to lose everything risk life for the chance at a better life yes i graduated from Philadelphia dental school practiced medicine several years dashing handsome cordial Georgia physician yet knowing i was dying then of tuberculosis i wanted to feel alive know danger taste possibilities ******* greedy ranch and railroad barons all you cotton gin grist mill moguls loud mouthed Yankee carpetbaggers bounty hunters self-righteous snake oil preachers with your fearful farmstead flocks what the hell do you think Big Nose Kate and me were doing in Tucson why i risked my life at Tombstone’s OK Corral i’ll tell you why because we were desperate beyond your comprehension long-drawn-out careworn hours twisted in desperation insufferably plodding nights so desperate Kate relieved me daily yet in back of each our minds we understood we were both slaves to ancient unfair corrupt economic system that provided enough whiskey to cope desperate for money allegiance shelter frantic enough to face loaded guns aimed firing at me it was hell on earth glaring sun beating down desert dust blowing burning eyes bullets cutting everywhere 1880’s revolvers lacking accuracy even with expert gunsmith modifications young men riddled with bleeding gunshot wounds in 6 years i was dead age 36 hey Kate was no cakewalk she was a ***** who knew how to play me flirting charming admiring exaggerating her strange Hungarian lust encouraging provoking prostituting on her knees back tummy fingers mouth managing somehow to become acquainted with Arizona Governor George Hunt then surviving to age 90 you modern day sleepers who read this rambling cower at airport security passively submit to insidious militarizing culture invasively inspecting camera scanning for cuticle scissors nail file weapons all ludicrous absurdist theatre while real bad guys can easily tape 3 McDonald’s plastic knives together or ball point pen pierce pilots passengers throat arteries skyjack planes hijack bus trains you are no safer than you ever were before Homeland Security Czars foreign wars where we don’t belong riding has grown so weary courage ruthless longing vexing generating entire industry of airport security corporate mall tariff duty free shops inflated restaurant menu prices liter bottle of water $4.99 welcome to America **** me now or **** me later who cares what i look like what i wear if i’m dry shaven smell like goat if i cough up chunks of lung spit tuberculosis germs on polished floors just so long as i pay the toll fee and don’t go shooting off my mouth

Today I met...
A man with sea blue eyes shining from fiery hair
I said "you should be a pirate"
Then Effie piped "Let's turn this bus into a ship"
He mined for gold in Australia
Working 12 hour days and nights
Visiting home he found bad repute
In Coromandal's strong anti-mining activism.
He complained about the packaging
Of the tourist L&P; ice-cream he'd bought
"It should all be cardboard and wooden spoons"
The miner turned environmentalist?
Did the activists hear him out?

Behind him,
A man with eyes enclosed in triangle parentheses,
A tattoo of reminder.
- Reminder that being locked up is a waste of time, of life.
- Realization that being in that crowd caused trouble. Drugs ain't the thing. And
- Regret. It caused him to care for young minds, to teach what he had learnt.
"I was only in there for drink driving" but for two years?
He left at Paeroa College, "take care",
Not hearing our "thank you for sharing"

At our transfer we serenaded
In happy gratitude and spontaneity
The pirate watched, intrigued.
The drivers; our faithful who had driven us so far
And our newly acquainted about to shuttle us forth;
They watched
'Til ye old faithful lost faith and went on with his duty
A boy stepped off the bus
Listening shyly, hiding.
My bow slipped over out-of-tune strings
Effie's voice rang true, feeling and joy,
Hand strumming, familiar and fond.
A mess of black hair from Colorado
Complained "there's too many guns"
But was a gunsmith "For hunters... I love it"

I held a rifle once,
Scared of its kick and its bite,
A man shouldered it for me,
I pulled the trigger.
Paused. Then relief.
- The clay bird flew on,
Its demise instead the ground
It hit and crumbled.

I stand alone
Frozen, frightened, without power
Can I stay the course for one more day?
Perhaps one more hour?

This pain is gripping
Can I make it one more day?
The loneliness is crushing
My familiar habits could take all that away

Forty-three years I've been like this
Never jailed nor hospitalized
All this time, I've managed to get by
But for a wounded soul and tearful eyes

Too proud to ask for help
Too weak to make it without
Can I stay the course for one more day?
Will I be beaten by fear and doubt?

Maybe I can slip across the line
Maybe just for a day
I know that's a lie
Perhaps I can convince myself anyway

Every moment that goes by
I miss her warm seductive gaze
Couldn't we dance one more time
For an hour or a couple of days?

I know that won't work
This sickness she can't heal
Perhaps peace lies only
Is in the taste of the gunsmith's steel

I've been to a meeting
Actually four
There, I saw something else
Do those people have something more?

These people who meet
These people who share
How could they help me?
Why should they care?

To them … I'm a stranger
To me … I'm a shame
So why the warm embrace?
Why do they even remember my name?

They talk of a Higher Power
Can such a thing be?
But the question is moot
He would never want me

I fell wounded to my knees
A prayer slipped out
My vision a bit clearer
Less blurred by fear and doubt

If I ask for more
Will He grant it to me?
Maybe wisdom and courage
Perhaps acceptance and serenity

But if God is just
I should be punished without end
Instead ... a glimmer of hope
Instead ... a way to begin

Now, could I tell this in the rooms?
No, that's too naked - too daring
But maybe I'm wrong
Perhaps this is the stuff of sharing

I sat next to you today
Making me feel as if today is my birthday
The way your eyes light up when you stare
Kiss me they dare
Your presence makes anything bearable
Makes everything enjoyable
I am scared of getting hurt
You are known to be a big flirt
Revealing my vulnerable side
Makes me horrified
Allowing someone to enter my heart
Impressing me with their art
Should I take the leap of faith
Locked and loaded like a gunsmith

Sean Penn’s muzzle velocity

is unstoppable, his academy

awards are for the gunsmith.

Golden bullets to be minted

  for the bad and ugly, even

the vibrating Oscar he gifted

to Olena Zelenskiy is for the

furnace. Beware Mr Putin, a

quivering pellet is on the way.