"holsters" poems
Like rippling water distorts a reflection,
the mirror reshapes my
stomach,
thighs,
arms.
Buttons unlatch from their holsters,
The zipper loosens its grip,
Exposed are the things I despise.
Pinching, pulling, pushing.
Nothing changes, all still there.
Not so much a distorted body,
More so a distorted mind.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
I've seen cops
way too many times,
too many times
to go through my ****
ripping apart pillows
with switches
and against my better judgment
I did nothing
as I heard the glass of
my grandmother's picture
being tossed around
in the back.
Too many times
asking me questions
about this
and that?
Him or her?
If you help us out,
we'll help you out,
understand?
in their rooms
where no love is grown
and no help is on the way,
their eyes were filled with the fire,
they were finally
gonna get this ******
make him pay
for crimes he didn't commit.
Too many times
when i was asleep
in some old sewer,
and rolling up
asking me if i was on drugs
or drunk,
and if i didn't leave
they were gonna shove
a nightstick up my ***
get me used to it.
Too many times have they slowed down
at a light
and turned slowly,
keeping their eyes on me
like I was a wolf,
when they had blood in their eyes
and teeth
in their holsters.
"Where you going tonight?"
as they surrounded me,
another inmate
inside the bounded
bars of an external prison.
Cops never helped me,
never asked
how I was doing,
or why I was doing it,
or why I felt trapped
inside my own body;
all they saw
was another ******
making problems
for the civilized people.
God will remember them,
just as I can't forget.
And most of the time,
it was other black men,
some fruit bred strong in them,
to hate them bottom-rung *******
because they had escaped
and remade themselves,
apparently.
In truth,
I have killed many of them
in my sleep,
but when I step back,
I see that they are a product
of the same system
that says the guns, drugs, and violence
are part of the ****** condition,
that only shows a ****** on tv
when he's ***** or killed somebody,
another mugshot for you to put in your
scrapbook of fear.
So, no I don't hate them,
I hate seeing people that look like me
getting killed
before they come to fruition.
I hate that
:"black"
is used as a term
meant to engender
fear.
I hate that I walk down the street,
and a white girl
walks ahead
turning around
to
check for me.
I hate that when me
and some of the homies
walk down the street,
our hoodies pulled over our heads,
people look behind us
for the grim reaper.
There is hope,
but without
it being fostered,
The fruits
die on the vine,
noosed up
in a new way
as they drop.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field
wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando
she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -
her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s
- lordy, lordy -
she said they bolstered her
fire power
we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.
12/5/14
:)
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
I demand to make my choices.
We are here to raise our voices.
These irreversible changes are locking us in cages;
These are real, life-or-death issues.
This is no show, and these lives are no Broadway stages.
Let's talk about decisions;
Let's put aside biased visions.
Let’s talk about who makes these decisions;
I’m looking at you, old white dudes in boardrooms.
Last time you took a class in sex-ed,
Gatsby and Daisy were just about this close to being bride and groom.
Let's talk about consent;
Let's use this space to vent.
Let’s talk about who has the right to judge;
I’m looking at you, anti-abortion crusaders.
Feeling threatened by strong women and their placards and posters,
Like they’ve got pistols in their uterine holsters,
Like they’re all daughters of the dark forces of Darth Vader.
Why do we insist on going to war with each other?
More importantly,
Why does our ****** education,
The root of this problem,
The rotten core of this issue -
Why does our ****** education **** so much?
Why do we talk about choice for a woman instead of the choice of men to respect a woman in the first place?
Why are we still debating?
Grown men telling women to listen,
It's absolutely infuriating!
Let's fight for rights and quit the hating.
Women are resorting to desperate measures,
Whilst men walk away with fulfilled pleasures.
I adopt this tone gravely;
Women are jeopardising their safety, daily.
Is a living woman worth less than an unborn baby?
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 5:18 AM UTC
People plugged in everywhere
To ipods, games and phones
Like non-existent robots
The world is full of drones
We're now made up of circuit boards
We've lost all of our bones
Be different, and unplug yourself
Grow a pair of stones
Your life is electronic
on a tablet or a chip
You run your life remotely
you give people email lip
you wouldn't dare go jogging
you might fall and break a hip
Be different, and unplug yourself
And give technology the slip
A record made of vinyl
now it's just some bits and bytes
It's a relic in an antique store
Along with other sights
Like cameras using flashbulbs
when taking shots at night
Be different and unplug yourself
Show digital your might
It doesn't matter where you go
A text, you have to send
If you're going to the shopping mall
Or just walking 'round the bend
You've more holsters on your belt loop
Than gunfighters would depend
To hold onto their weapons
Before they met their end
Turn off the boxes, read a book
Do something that's old school
Don't follow all the others
Acting like a dumb pack mule
Don't rely on electronics
Just use it as a tool
Unplug yourself from everything
Be a leader not a fool
People plugged in everywhere
To ipods, games and phones
Like non-existent robots
The world is full of drones
We're now made up of circuit boards
We've lost all of our bones
Be different, and unplug yourself
Grow a pair of stones
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
We sat on the grass
by Banks House
warm sun
sound of coal men
at the coal wharf
just behind
shunting of coal trucks
up in the shunting yard
by the railway bridge
I showed Janice
my new 6 shooter gun
my old man had got me
with a plastic holster
that was attached
to my belt
she took the gun
in her hands
and turned it over
what's fascinating
about guns?
she said
one looks pretty much
like another
she opened up the gun
and saw where the caps
were fitted
does it go bang
when you fire caps?
sure it does
I said
and took the gun
and pulled the trigger
and BANG BANG
it went
she put her hands
over her ears
that's loud
she said
******** up her eyes
I twirled the gun round
a finger and put the gun
back in the holster
Gran said guns
are dangerous things
Janice said
they are but this
is only a toy gun
I said
she took off her
red beret and combed
her fair hair with a comb
from her small handbag
did they have girl cowboys?
she asked
cowgirls they were called
I said
Anne Oakley was good
with a gun
have you got a spare gun
and holster
I could borrow?
and I could be her
to your Wyatt Earp
she said
sure I have
I said
I got lots of guns
and holsters
- I had about three sets-
let's go get one
and we can get you
started as a cowgirl
I said
and I can ride
a pretend white horse
she said
to go with your
black one
ok
I said
and we got up
and walked back
into the Square
and we went to the flat
where I lived
my mother was boiling
the wash in the boiler
and said
you want some lunch yet?
I asked Janice and she said
that would be nice
and so we had some
sandwiches and milk
and I went and got her
a spare gun and holster
and an S belt of mine
which she fitted around
her narrow waist
and she had a go
at drawing the gun
out of the holster
as she'd seen me do
and she was quite good
and after lunch
we set off to ride
our imaginary horses
through the Square
and along the open prairie
off the Meadow Row
bomb site
looking out
for Injuns
or bad cowboys
we could fight.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
I always wanted to compose symphonies,
But my hands and my head could never agree.
I got the blue curse, because I always feel beats,
But my fingers freeze up when I get to melo-DIEs.
Recede. I want to live the nihilist's dream,
Smoke packs a day to intensify screams.
Maybe if I stare into the middle distance,
After hours I would build up a tolerance to listen.
IN THIS town, there are only 2 kinds of people
Girls who pierce their NOSES and THOSE IN the steeple
Walking down So. Auburn in bare feet and short shorts
Catching the gleam from the street (of course),
With their dreadlocks all up in auburn buns
And their eyes shooting diamonds in the autumn sun.
Bullet-belt vests draped lazily over their shoulders,
With double-zero earrings and squirt-gun holsters.
And the police-dogs and the SWAT cars are all powered by indulgence,
The doctors are up to their elbows in cadavers by self-expulsion
The men are splitting at the seams from over-eating obsessive compulsion
And the shameful deception of upward inflection to change my direction and wind
UP and the inanimate DUCKling with a large crank between its shoulders
In the shape of a black key to the black energy that makes the cold rooms colder
Is a disguise to the spoken word hurricanes brewing inside me.
Set me to zero then make me the hero so physicists can derive me.
If the sum of all forces is equal to mass times acceleration,
Maybe the sum of world problems is equal to vanity times irritation.
Jeans cutting up my legs, purpling due to lack of circulation
Are developing holes, as well as the soles of my shoes, I'm growing impatient.
The production slows to a halt, pouring salt into lacerations,
And as boys grow into drunk daddies, women resort to migration.
This country isn't democracy, just a ghastly and pale imitation,
These people don't have representatives, only half-assed representations.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
You are the monster under my bed
The boogeyman I cannot forget
The black hand red fingernails creeping lightly on my skin like daddy long legs mama told me couldn't bite
Your lips are splinters digging into the holsters you carved into my bones
October 15th I can remember your blackened eyes hollow nostrils like full moons
You were the werewolf mama told me only came out at night to catch bad little boys
I tried so hard to be good for you to be on your nice list mama said you checked it twice
I bit my tongue till it bled while your boogeyman claws paper shredding my thighs blood coming up like well water on your wrists
I didn’t look when the sun came up and you turned back into a man again
I didn’t look under my bed that night because I knew nightmares weren’t what I was afraid of anymore and
night terrors weren’t what was keeping me so late
I didn’t ask mama if I was a bad little boy and if the werewolf was going to be coming back for me again
didn’t ask her to tuck me in
didn’t ask her to read me another bedtime story
Because you are the monster under my bed
And when I don’t cover my feet under blankets like mama said would keep me safe at night you grip me harder than mama could
I can’t forgive myself and I can’t tell myself
mama was wrong that werewolves and boogeymen don’t come for just the bad little boys at night but you let me know
I was the cautionary fairy tale mama let me know I was the boy who cried wolf
you whispered it in your growling hissing nails-on-a-blackboard boogeyman voice
mama never told me what to do if I was that bad little boy
mama never told me how to fight off the boogeyman
never told me how to **** a werewolf
If I should run a stake through your heart or
use holy water
mama I'm sorry I didn't know
mama you told me you could forgive me
That October night I prayed while I was falling asleep
Mama said it would help
“Dear god please forgive me
I let the devil inside
And he won’t get out from under my bed.”
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
I can’t really tell you
About love,
You.
I’m interested in *******
Till I’m raw, and holding
You like the universe you
Are.
Sometimes I go around
With hoes,
Smoking blunts till we fume
And sing and laugh
And start getting handsy.
Sometimes they have their kids in the other room,
And they yelp and laugh; when I look into these hoes
Eyes, all I see is aggression. I’m not seeing myself.
I’m not saying these things
The way I want them to be sung.
Most of my money
Runs out the door. Like a bandit,
Trouble likes to peep me when I’m at my worst.
The cops have never been so *****
As when they see me, and they ******
Holsters.
I go alone a lot. To a lot of places.
Hoes, Money, Depression, Debt,
Bad Credit, All kinds of Addiction,
**** Alcohol, **** Codeine, Nicotine,
My brain is a Chemical Frenzy,
Most days I’m hovering like a mote.
I graduated,
Look at my degree: **** Me.
I have come home to a confining place,
A spit-swallowing place, full of half-breathed people
And tight-lipped sorrows.
I can only
go
when it’s convenient
And necessary.
I can only
be
when it’s part of a digression,
Never progression.
Food tastes like paper,
I’ve taken a likening.
Lights are fastened to the sky,
The glue wears, washes my eyes in milk,
The jewels drop,
The world ends.
Then it all snaps back into place, eerily,
So clean I never saw it.
Ask me if I can tell you about love,
When I can remember your body
And
It’s casual thump,
Clothed or not,
Drunk or sober,
Speaking or silent.
Ask me if I can drive home and peel back the sky with my left hand, while steering Earth into oblivion,
As I lean across wind-swept galaxies of dust, ash, and settled nicotine
To kiss Florida Orange lips, sip the nectar of insanity, and
Swerve on universe eyes.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
Double sided
Your presence always accompanied
By the most dreadful momentum
You are gaining speed
You are losing peace
You are giving the lead
To a power that won’t cease
It’s cloaked in impulse
A body of desire
Though intention rests in its holsters
Pride is all it fires
Swirling beauty slow down!
Running too fast for those
Who can recognize to see
And those who can’t to catch
You champion hope by burying action
With action of the wrong kind
This version of hope doesn’t
Liberate, but rather infects the mind
Hope was meant to inspire
Not fuel a pointless fire
You’ve made your conscience a liar
Dragging ideals through the mire
Shadow-kissed
A waste of this
Inverting experiences
You won’t want to reminisce
A romance not worth a single ounce
Of the blood you’ve already lost
Put to death that with which you lay
If only you knew the cost
Why can’t you see the bottom?
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
A Dotard deals directly with death
His empty head wastes it’s breath
Fire and fury; war and worry
Life lost like a blink of an eye
A flash in the dark and then we die
Another ****** on the news
Black, white, Muslims, Jews
Fears of terror on the rise
Weapons of sizeable lies
Pray for Paris, stand with me
Pray in public for people to see
We’ll send our thoughts, a share, a like
And we’ll declare another drone strike
Tears shed for the injured and dead
For every white city stained red
Another elementary school mess
Caused by a child’s carelessness
Or some ****** having fun
With the barrel of his gun
A classroom of souls sit silent
Victims of a life so violent
Education spent on waging war
Using the pockets of our poor
America’s defence, say the boasters
Our children, new age holsters
A mother explains the world to her son
That’s ruled under finger and gun
Until a time when tragedy hits here
We all live life, paralyzed in fear
A world in decay and that’s okay
Because her child won’t ever know
The sky on fire raining ash-like snow
Won’t ever see the rising sea
Will not hear the screams of the free
As they rally together for peace
And are rained down on by police
Higher he will have to rise
Higher, after he dies
No longer burdened by the blow of living
In a time of eternal unforgiving
Plunged into a nightmare, he screams
Softly, slowly, delved into drowning dreams
As his mother stands above
Holding him under with love
A monster, a fiend they’ll see
An American reality
Another victim of violence
A soul becomes silence
Hearts break, tears are shed
Out of jealousy for the dead
For all the world’s war and strife
He’s just another casualty of life
On the news, a leading millionaire
Offering a thought and prayer
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 8:09 PM UTC
A showdown on Sunset
At sundown the two met
A breakdown of Corvettes
Cellphones drawn by execs
From holsters, my wild west
On speed dial is the best
Lawyers to slow down, lay to rest
This showdown of suits neatly pressed
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 6:25 PM UTC
David slings a rock
Cop holsters a glock, Lizzie Borden packs an axe
Mac he packs the knife, Billy battles with a club, Tommy’s gun is a sub
Kelly’s got 1 too, Bazooka Joe Is Gum, Peter Gun not, Colt 45 is not malt
Nor a horse, hand grenades, canons w/big ***** Doc Holiday had TB
Rock Hudson *** James Dean crash his car,Hank Williams in his bar
Natalie Wood don’t float, Cain killed brother, Juliette poison her lover,
Whitey Bulger, he killed and got paid, deadman walking gets to eat
Rodney King he got beat, got beat Mama Cass Elliott choked on ham
58,000 gone in Nam, 4 dead in Ohio, Kamikazes fall 1941, again 2001
Iraqi leader w/ a rope, John Belushi too much dope, C. Manson is alive
Michael Jackson isn’t, Saturday night special is very ordinary
Fast and furious is the crime, **** Clark just his time
Pirate victims walk the plank, THINK,
Next I’ll come rolling up in a tank
Hear the whistle of my missile
***** Harry had the biggest
The Derringer is small
Smokey Bear forest fire
Greek funeral is a pyre
Too many +’s or -’s
Is electrical surges
Woman and child
sing the dirges
Walking dead
Are zombies
Fat man and
Little Boy
Are atom
Bombies
as for me
in a blaze
of glory
BOOM
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Why do you wear
your guns back to front
in the holsters?
Helen asked me
as we walked
the bomb site
by Meadow Row
I saw this cowboy
in a film
at the cinema
have his like this
and you cross
your hands over
and get your guns
isn't it slower
that way?
she asked
no it's speed that matters
not how
you wear your guns
I said
I showed her
how quick I was
and she stood bemused
clutching her doll
Battered Betty
tightly to her chest
haven't you got
caps in your guns
to make them
sound real?
she asked
no I ran out
and anyway
I can make
the sound myself
by going
BANG BANG
she jumped away
holding Battered Betty
to her chest
you could have told me
you were going
to make that loud
banging noise
Betty got frightened
I looked at her
tightly woven plaits
of hair
and thick lens glasses
and her small hands
holding the doll
sorry Betty
I said
patting the doll's head
I put the guns away
and we walked
to the New Kent Road
and along
under the railway bridge
and by the Trocadero cinema
gazing at the billboards
and small pictures
of films
being shown
you can come
with me here
on Saturday
I said
they've got
a good cowboy film
showing
haven't any money
for the cinema
Mum said
she can't afford it
Helen said
my old man'll
cough up some money
if I ask
I said
she looked at me
Mum'll let me go
if you ask her
Helen said
ok let's go
ask her now
I said
so we walked
to Helen's house
and I told her
about how I practised
drawing my guns
everyday
she looked at Betty
but whether
she was listening
to me
or not
I couldn't say.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
Lydia
sat on the
red tiled door
step of the
ground floor flat
looking out
at the Square
one morning
one Sunday
her father
was in bed
her mother
preparing
Sunday lunch
listening
to music
on the old
radio
her 15
year old big
sister was
asleep with
her boyfriend
her brother
Hem was out
looking for
spiders
to pull off
their legs
one by one
the man with
his boxer
dog walked by
then she saw
Benedict
in tee shirt
and blue jeans
armed with his
6 shooters
in holsters
wearing a
cowboy hat
where abouts
you going?
She asked him
clean up Dodge
he replied
why? is it
***** then?
She called out
sitting there
in her green
flowered dress
Benedict
walked over
to where she
was sitting
you ok?
He asked her
pushing back
on his head
the black hat
no I'm bored
and fed up
she replied
come with me
we can both
clean up Dodge
Benedict
said to her
so where's Dodge?
She asked him
on the big
bomb site off
Meadow Row
can I have
one of your
6 shooters?
Sure you can
have to tell
my mum where
I'm going
Lydia said
Benedict
nodded his
head and said
best not to
mention Dodge
or she may
not let you
go with me
so she went
indoors and
asked her mum
where will you
be? she asked
we're going
to clean up
Dodge City
who are we?
Benedict
and just me
her mother
stared at her
o I see
mother said
be careful
of the roads
and that was
all she said
carrying
on with the
preparing
of the lunch
Lydia
went off with
Benedict
borrowing
one of his
6 shooters
tucked in the
green bow of
her green dress
her eyes bright
her straight hair
unbrushed
and
quite a mess.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
25 little soldiers
lined up in a row
25 gun holsters
tucked beneath each elbow
25 little soldiers
get 25 to life
for 25 death threats
to the President's wife
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
The Future to me is Walking Toasters and Cars that glide and go faster than roller coaster
No more big screens nothing but virtual TVs & invisible gun holsters Art Displays still magnificence in portable posters.
Images and pictures are no longer created by hand
they are simply imagined then transferred to an electrical canvas through the movement of sand.
Homes are bought with credits in the digital lands all types of music played together with the mystical hands Medley's majestically moving the fans
No more war or hate just peace by command it’s amazing to see the future in conceptual hands, emotional bangs and physical hangs dominated by the extraterrestrial man.
The future is no place for a regular man a scholar must know mathematics and formulas to simply understand love as a feeling and how it stands.
Vagabond walkers on the side of the technological wastelands
everything that's trash is thrown in biological waste cans then mutated among each other to create bands.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
~
**Wesson gives a lessen with a .357
David slings rock
cop holsters a glauk
Lizzy Borden packs an axe
Mac he packs the knife
Billy battles with a club
Tommy's gun is a sub
Kelly's got one too
Bazooka Joe is gum
Peter Gunn is not
Smokey has the right to "bear" arms
or did we just arm bears
don't let my gun become undone
never stifle my rifle
hear the whistle of my missle
think next I'll bring the tank
after that what do you bet? i'll come flying in a Jet**
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
The stakes of civilization burn mundane flares fighting wars with HAZ-MAT suits. The nonsense blabbers death on the rotting flesh of surreal zombies. Late distillations throw parties--singing songs to dummy suicides, martini holsters in bubonic grief. Stupid people do smart things in this 24601 world. Frost penalization claims ghosts as lost lovers. Stupid people make catacombs from burning villages in carbon sockets.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 3:19 AM UTC
Benny and Helen
got off the bus
at Camberwell Green,
and Benny showed her the shops,
and they looked around;
he at the toy shops
looking at guns and holsters,
and rifles with pictures
of cowboys on the packet,
and she at dolls and prams,
and skipping ropes;
then he showed her
the hospital where he was born
which was a way further along
a long road.
That's where I was born,
he said, showing her the hospital,
pointing it out.
Why were you born there,
and not Guy's hospital?
Helen said.
Because my mum lived
in Dulwich then,
and not the Elephant,
Benny said.
O I see,
said Helen, wide-eyed
through her thick lens spectacles.
I was born in Guy's hospital,
Helen said.
They stood watching for a while,
then they walked back
to the shops again,
and found a cafe,
and went in,
and Benny bought them both
ice creams, and they walked
to Camberwell Park,
and sat on one of the seats,
and ate their ice creams.
I was in another hospital
when I was about 6 weeks old,
Benny said.
Why was that?
Helen said.
I had a twisted gut,
Benny said,
and nearly died.
Helen gazed at him:
her eyes big and shocked.
Did you?
she said.
Yes I was baptised
in the hospital,
and my aunt,
and some medical staff
were my godparents,
Benny said.
Glad you didn't die,
she said.
Me too,
Benny said,
couldn't have bought
these ice creams then,
or be sitting here with you.
And I wouldn't be here,
because Mum would
never let me come
this far on my own,
and then I wouldn't
have seen it,
or the hospital
where you were born,
Helen said.
They sat in the park
and ate their ice creams,
and then Benny showed her
the cinema he came
to sometimes,
a real fleapit,
he said,
but they show good films.
Can I come with you next time?
she said,
if Mum'll let me.
Sure you can,
Benny said.
She kissed him
on the cheek,
and he hoped that no boys
from school saw the kiss
in case they thought
him a cissy,
but it was a good kiss
he supposed,
as far as he knew.
But what was a 7 year old
boy, having been kissed
by a 7 year old girl, to do?
He pretended it wasn't there,
and pretended not to care.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
Pluto is in my brain
And archers stick my spine
I am not flammable
Cabled streets
And ***** walks
Broken windows cut my
Finger tips
And the world looks small
Non existent
I am ephemeral
Filled with a Jupiter cancer
And you're the teacher
3 minutes left
Walk with your chin loose
Biting knuckles
Please don't **** me
Over and out
With frozen band aided hands
Radio jazz
And drifting holsters
VZA show me that speed
Five more houses
Give me what I want
Whoever knows
What I'm trying to say
Means nothing anyway
Enjoy the night
Kick me in the stomach
And feed me moths
I love you only if that.
Jamaican carnivals
And white wine
Love on me fully
Unlock the temptation
Of soft reggae
And the slayer of lungs
Crackling voices
Hear me
I felt your soul
It's nice
You're flowered heart
Reaps me inside
Tears me to shreds
To plant flora and trees
And work on the yard
On and on
Simple life equates on
The beautiful one
The grass they make
In this moment
Women are strong
With Aquarius
And your laugh is sweet
Like hickory
Please turn it off
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
You roll in like a vaquero to the Wild West:
water galloping the earth & black clouds
rippling: the foaming flank of a stallion.
Tip your hat & get to business: charge
the air with cactus-prickle shivers, slip
your Zeus fingers from holsters and lightning-
rod them to the sky. Rumble your spurs
& order me a sarsaparilla—lid-crack
carefully; an effervescent gale will brew.
Breathe slow at first: electric hum through bone-
white grass: bows as you ghost by—
clear your throat, lasso tight my attention
with guttural echoes pressed heavy on
my chest. Then rip open
the constellations with gunshot blows,
explode wide saloon doors & take
no prisoners. Oil-lacquer streets
& ride off blazing: leave the women
but take me, saddle-swing me high
in the catatonic static of a ghost town.
You’ll vanish like you came: I know
what they say about red skies
in morning. But I’m never awake
to watch you silhouette away.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
He was a brawned and ugly gun-slinger, and he came from the wild west;
He had the names of six dead Texan boys, tattoed on his chest;
His hat was 15 gallons tall, his long-coat midnight black;
He wore his holsters mighty high and he said his name was Jack.
He rode a palamino horse on the day he came to town;
Three deputies were in the street, and he shot those suckers down;
Dismounting by the sheriffs door, he hollered out a cry,
*"Get yer no-good chicken *** outside, today yer gonna die."*
The sheriff boldly stepped outside, a shotgun in his hand,
*"You'd best be coming quiet son, or your life aint worth a ****
Jack tipped his hat and curled his lip, he turned his head and spat,
"You shot my brother, sheriff, and yer gonna pay for that."
The sheriff paused to ponder, then he slowly shook his head,
"Your Jimmy robbed a stagecoach and he left the driver dead."
Jack grimaced at his brother's name, and his hands twitched by his side,
"You can call it how you like", he said, "But I'm gonna have yer hide."
The sheriff put the shotgun down, and they faced off in the street,
His hands were poised above his guns, he was sweating in the heat;
He waited till he saw Jack flinch, and his hands flew lightning fast,
His trusty colts were smoking as they fired their deadly blast.
For a moment they both stood stock still, then Jack fell to the ground,
His face was full of shocked surprise, but he never made a sound;
The sheriff felt a tinge of pain, and he saw his badge was bust;
As the blood came seeping from his chest, he fell into the dust.
The townsfolk still recall the day, when Jack rode into town,
And every year they say a prayer, on the day they both fell down;
They were buried up on old Boot Hill, their graves were side by side;
The sheriff renowned for killing Jack, with the man who took his hide.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Off the dusty
reckless trail,
my two angry-feet
stared back at me
from across my kingdom-
a claw-footed
tin-lined
copper washtub
manufactured in St. Louis
for wayward Western royalty,
just me and my feet.
From under the bubbles,
I swore there would be no trouble.
Between a thick-veneer of desert ****
I told my toes not to be alarmed,
to hang tight,
'cause this was going
to be our night for peace.
The last thing I saw
as we drifted into serenity
was my twin 44's
hanging quietly
in my well worn holsters.
Yessum, there's were rare times
out here, out here
in the desperado-hinterlands,
where quick hands
could bury a man
and his two feet.
I felt my hands tremble
at the thought of tomorrow.
But for tonight,
this quiet peaceful evening,
me & my feet
were surely safe
from any
immediate harm.
Amen (for these peaceful easy feelings).
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC