The Cowboy Didn’t Believe

The cowboy didn’t believe
you should shoot a man with his own gun
But I did anyway

Shot him square between the eyes
And didn’t blink once

Only when we took turns reading
Way after the old, sold, cool breeze,
not like you needed the extension, car
Made way for old, sold, returned,
reread, always reread books that
burnt red hot through hands

There was a bomb
In one of the mines
And I remember being told
That it was detangled and disarmed
Because the detangler knew the friend
of a friend of the bomb man
And filled the biography holes
And that the cowboy disapproved of this
And so did I.

And that was our only sex


To Pot a PlantĀ 

To pot a plant is simple

Simply take a rabbit’s foot
Because there is never enough
Spare luck in the world
A stray hair from a loved one
And enough smooth rocks

If you are a bored aristocrat
With a gun in your holster
Watching enough television
With nature shows
Where a lion’s cock is not pornography
You might end up on my list

It is not complete
But I have plans for it
And in the meanwhile,
Watering plants is my pass time

Unless I again spy
Three neighbors

Climbing down elevator ropes
One with a knife between his teeth
Like a bandit
The second a woman
With multi-purpose balm
Smoothed across her cheeks and
Her pretty plump mouth
And the third a bus driver
Simply along for the ride


The corridors are long and slim
And revealing
And the only things that grow
Receive only a third,
A geometric shaped side,
Of the sun