Simpler Times

It’s absurd to take the trail out
yonder when there isn’t a destiny to reconcile
with. The field it scatters across the country
and there we walk, galloping on horse back
like the days of old. Spit, grit, and the working
way, here we come. Love it here. Loathe the fast,
whored out way of life, full of sky scrapers and
money that goes round. Work for myself now,
maybe rob a train or two with Jesse James.
We’ll eat brown beans for lunch and the heart out
of the American way for dinner. Live fast
die young. Right Dean? At least we can lie on
our backs and watch the sky skip ahead quickly
and live a life time in one shake of a pirty looking
whore’s hips.

Church bells are ringing for our arrival. I’m too
busy to lend an ear, too busy to kneel in front of a
thorn wearing maroon mess. I rather strip naked and
give myself to the razor wielding orangutans,
and get eaten by rats, stripped down to bare bones
just like the time I lived in. How in the hell am I
going to get back there? Where is my home? Where is
that whore from the saloon I now call my wife? I want
it all back. The numb, bleak, cold winters in the log
cabin. The gathering of wood while my muscles are
punctured with ice, only to be rewarded with sexual
favors by a fire. Sure beats a sauna. Sure beats
plastic pussy too, if you know what I mean. Lived like
kings and jokers. It may have only lasted a few moments,
but it sure was worth every callus, ache, and limp. I’d do it again
just to watch her bathe in a river instead of a shower.
But they took it from me. Those bastard sons of our
fathers took it from me. Tie me a knot and
do it with vengeance. There will be blood shed on
my watch. Hang them high.