Old Silver... Aged Stars Over Nevada... The Usual Bluff
A little money to amuse yourself, half a continent to drift,
you're a blue, past-peak gunslick of the non-rhyme.
Today you're driving either 35 or 95, nothing average,
seeking badger-silence and the next cinderblock motel.
And those stars overhead with ragged postage stamp edges,
glitter-wishes for the begging. And the sleek Chinese girl
at Mona's Ranch in Elko refuses to believe you're only there
for the T-shirt, because she wants to camisole-strip real slow.
Legends have their own cares: Doc Holliday coughs
against the underside of his Glenwood Springs gravestone.
And Jesus fondles Mary M.'s breasts, pounds a wine jug
off a kitchen table in heaven to scare off fans and missionaries.
And... when you switch on the motel bathroom light,
it flashes before dying. With whiskey head-throb,
with strawberry-taste skin-memories of someone,
it's good to sleep with a .45 below a pillow.