. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Monday, June 20, 2011

This Cowboy Rode Trains

How young we were, to think we could have those kinds of adventures without any consequences that would follow us for the rest of our lives...

A thousand ton steel bronco bucks beneath me,
grinning I climb higher,
corrugated metal roof,
and full moon sky,
engine whistle echoes in the distance ahead,
a desperate howl,
a lonely sound,
pleading me to ride all night,
pleasing me,
wind against my white knuckles,
so much joyful laughter,

She watches from her wrought iron balcony,
her door,
her mobiles hanging,
at the top of those thin stairs,
tissue paper in the fan,
in my cowboy boots by her bed,
the pile of clothes,
notes we can’t read anymore,
the fading train whistle,
blinking red light,
red eye,
until there is only darkness,
and the silence that swallows thereafter.