from whence this dry wind blows
west
from whence this creek once flowed
west
from whence I rucked up and rode
to find an unfettered future
at reverie
they looked at me
and said we smell retreat
I looked back at them
worn and grim
confused by the specter
of defeat
I drifted off
to nodding prairies
and cottonwood islands
and sanctuaries
and felt the breeze
while fingering bars
the cool of metal
on starchy collars
the innocent days
are damn near over
and the novelty
of four leaf clovers
lost in the haze of
the same old place
and the inevitable
same tomorrow
west
west
to ride there now
and find a Henslow's sparrow
west
west
they're coming now
to taste our metal and marrow.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment