Dying here in this canyon ditch

throat dry, got no spit

The bison that whispered to my right

has been taken by the coyote’s bite

Sleepy eyes and scolding sun

Couldn’t be as the reptile’s blood

cold and quick to gore a fight

hot enough to shoot on sight

Death’s face, gold to my eyes

now I’m called into the sky

Like the skull of a long horn drawn

or the saguaro reaching tall and high

By the eagle’s screech at dawn

Somewhere in the wild west cry


©PseudoBop 2017 All rights reserved.

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