Well whiskey and a Rock Springs girl,
in one Cowboy Bar or another,
waiting for the ceiling to swirl.
She says she wants to be a mother,
I just want to see her toes curl,
but I wonder if it's worth the bother.

She's lost herself to the endless wind,
thinks anywhere else must be better.
Feels her life's been pinned,
to the tail of an *** unfettered.

I don't want to tell her,
there isn't any place better.
Same **** everywhere you go,
tempered hard and stupid slow.

It's with whom you take the ride,
but God knows she's tried.
Just one ******* after the other,
and I sure as **** ain't a father.

I'll just sit with her awhile,
hope she adds me to the pile.
A drifter liar and her next mistake,
busy working the rigs for my own big break,

until my life's been pinned,
to the tail of an *** unfettered.

Square
Bland
Insubstantial
Brittle

The fairytale of America
is dead to me
Killed by a ******* in horns
Maybe my veil has simply been lifted
Long has it been so for others
while still others never knew
its comforting shade
A reverence as meaningful now
as that for Santa Claus
Was my faith so brittle so ignorant
Is it still
Seems so
**** I don't know
I need to visit those stones again
let them speak through the cold
They were never silent but
maybe now I won't be deaf to their story
maybe now I'll listen
maybe now

I love rambling cacophonies of abstraction words dripping lust plush and velvety sugared in pipe tobacco like Jack Rubys old joint no symbols to trip the flow odd bits of alliteration skipping stones slowly along the rails in legion divergent trains of thought but I am no McCarthy probing the inner turmoil of the Southern mind maybe riding I will tap out a poem about a poet writing poetry God I hate that **** or maybe something referencing my username the song Bad Company off the album Bad Company by the band Bad Company thrice I have called thy name and thus I do bind thee oh well you are what you eat I suppose to which I would usually respond ***** a bit crass maybe pretty ******* too hah **** it its just wordsandshit WordsandotherTrash

What colors are the stars?
I asked her,
a spectrum of
twinkling hues
cast against the
ceiling,
blinking from
the beast's shell.
What magic she must perceive
behind her eyes?
Ancient stories
wrought in the fabric
of her DNA,
distant memories
ages old
of times around
the fires.

A flock of sheep in sheep's clothing each of whom fancy themselves lone wolves when really they just follow the ******* in front of them as sheep are wont to do.

As we usher in a new Dark Age giddy at the prospect of renewed ignorance where faith in absurdity lights the way and opinion is fact if it's shouted loud and long and our plagues descend not from evolving microorganisms but vengeful spirits aloft and doctors become the spiteful magicians next door I find myself curious who first will burn for the sake of reality?

Confucius say...you can't fix stupid, *******, everyone burn.