. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .

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,
laughter,
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.

12.09

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