All my exes live in Texas
at least they all should
because I feel like Texas
is a tough state
like a bullet between gritted teeth
drinking whiskey from dirty glasses
and wearing assless chaps.
I think Texas is a suitable place
for those I’ve loved and those who have left me
and maybe those who eventually will
because I think dealing with me is…
Like trying to shoot holes in a polka-dot dress
awash in a sea of polka-dot dresses
and or a bee out of a bonnet
Let me shoot holes in the saloon walls
and when the alcohol all leaks out like
a black hat’s blood at my feet
I’ll weave a lasso rope through the holes
in the shape of a cactus
with big arms and
vaguely in the shape of a hand
giving the finger
And from the lone hole I missed
with my lasso
a bird will emerge and from its
sawdust and gritty songpipes
it will sing the song of Moses
after parting the red sea
except it sounds like Moses’s been
smoking unfiltered, handrolled cigarettes
(and on a sidenote, I want to try that shit.
He says his staff turned into a snake once)
but I digress…
and he drank from too many dirty glasses
because this songbird
has the voice of tracheotomy
as it sings of the egress of my exes
So I connect my heartstrings to the lasso
And pull that wall down
I watch as it salutes me
quite the stoic, stolidly
as it crashes into the dust
with a great Wile E. Coyote….
With extra plosive on the letter P
like a burst of Acme TNT,
fuse lit and flame-whittled down
to the base of the wick
like just when it appears the stick is a dud
and you want to give up the game
it blows up in your face.
The letter P does that.
But enough of letters. I’ve written enough letters.
If I connected the pieces of paper
On which I spat my inky thoughts
I’d have a scroll that unrolled the entire length
of this one horse town.
Because my scroll is exactly one horse long.
And it’s the one I rode in on
and I stretched it as far as it would go,
used part of him to make glue
as a security device and told him not to let go
while it dried.
So my horse stretches for miles
And everyone else walks.
Everybody walks but nobody wants to go anywhere
Except my exes because I know they’re here
I can sense each and every one of them
with the antennae in my chest
I’m on a hunt for revenge with my six gun
in both hands.
Because I’m not strong enough to dual wield
I tried that once
flinging lead with my reflection,
a mirage in the sand
and I landed flat on my back in my own oasis
staring as the clouds went by
so I rested on my laurels for a while
and watched the sky change moods
until once I saw the sky turn grey and cry
or maybe that was me
forgetting everything I’d ever wanted
for the sake of all I thought
I’d left behind.
And the seasons passed like dust
from my hand to the wind to gravity
it returns to dust again.
And my laurels became doldrums
‘Til my soul could rest no more
and I told myself I’d go to Texas
because Texas was tough
and maybe I could learn.
Then maybe I’d get revenge
on those hoop-skirts that
cat-walked out with their tails up
So, I mustered up what I had left
which wasn’t much
and jumped upon my trusty horse.
Yanked the reigns and dug in my spurs
The horse reared and dug its
soon-to-be-glue hooves into the dust one more time
And you know most of the story
except that I ran through there
shooting in a blaze of cordite scented glory
My spurs jingling like bells
which is how they found me
as I ran for my life from women in hoop skirts,
men in white hats and some of their kids
in tiny white hats.
They chased me out of Texas
I was not tough enough
Couldn’t tell you what I was thinking, honestly.
Because I know revenge is a dish best served cold
and lead slugs tend to be hot when they’re fired from a gun.
So that defeats the purpose… doesn’t it?
Is my imagination or is it hot in this desert?
I found a phone.
I can call for water… or something…
So I pick up the ear piece and
hold it up to my
Never know what desert critter could crawl in there.
So, I put it to my ear and turn the crank a few times.