Some Other Gash in the Cosmic Silence
Start-up of feeding time for rattlers.
I watch its snake-sundown path.
It owns a drifter's sureness.
And those aren't bedroom eyes.
Slithery late evening path...
no goddamned sense
of my silvery-warn revolver.
I catch its streak-leap odor...
let it live more of its narrow,
crooked, wild-death service.