Saturday, April 11, 2009

Bonedust In The Wind

Horseflesh and tumbleweed tea
cold iron drawn
in colder knuckles

The sounds of the silenced never quite the same
as the sounds of silence itself

We open bottles of firewarter and bloodburbon
we dance like dying snakes in the dust
all to the lawless deathfarts
of the hanging

This is the frontier
(This is home)



  1. excellent. It keeps me in the mood to continue working on FISTFUL OF FEET. Keep up with the western style poetry.