Houseproud only in grim surrounds
In prairie houses flux-visited, visitors disallowed, visages shrouded
In shoddy barns shotgun barrels like excess wicks trimmed down with a tight-fisted vice grips
Roaring howlers teem unseen in the bowerless places, ladles of xanthous sand as sugar on pancakes in dunes and mounds
The powerless sun-crazed belly like snakes toward scant Rorschach shade, wolves footprinting hungry runes
His lips kiss only thrown dust of open road, epidermis holding in his smokes, mound of the Pope’s ring should he ever come this way
He keeps a compact meerschaum pipe carved to resemble Pegasus in flight through fire-oranged air in Chimera’s lair, Bellerophon fingers fletching
Keeps also a larger churchwarden pipe, type a Hobbit might toke off in the ruins of drowned Orthanc
A fetching device with a deep bowl and long hussar stem designed to prevent its smoke from obscuring books when one is reading them
His east Prussian Father beat him, and his mother Beatrice’s fingers ran circuits of red rosary beads, rosy-cheeked bedesman.
Tears waterfalling off the brim
Stetson brand, precipitation bubbles up to the rim lip falls like a Perseid
Poulticed shaving cuts prevent infection
Hang ’em high like visages with election potential
Villages without electricity full of sordid sinners, sky painted elemental
Pillagers dressed eccentrically in old conquistador breastplates.
Shooters in the rain
Stained road leathers
Reigns in hand, bay rears
Foam-lathered horse flank rabid and marbled
Lead-lamed: the lenient, lacking, slow to act
Packing at all times, suspecting attackers
Hounded, crimes committed in hard times
Hard lines now but it was different then,
Less black and white.
Miles from another eye that doesn’t glow in twilight
Odd ferns as brushed idly the scabrous, feathered flanks of rank old saurians in settlement on bluffs overlooking the bowl of dust
The timelessness of eternal views
All poets turn, try-hand articulating such venal vernality after the totality of winter absence
News of new muses out west sends out abuse-needing poem-obsessives who would have that panacea for composition for themselves
Rust-coloured bodies like half-buried pharaohs still sleeping before the sunrise’s sudden stabbing heat.
Years spent in tents, in taverns with mavens and raven-haired Mexicanas
Liana’s Dallas cathouse pleasure palace for cattle rustlers in cowboy hats
Living intensely at the crown of the Wild West, there is no murder only death
Ignored every fine and letter stuffed through his door’s bore
Nobody controls anymore this hellsent sonofawhore
For an hour, you will be the only one she adores
Before returning to be one she abhors
His favourite whore in swanneck drawers foliate with swirls
Girly smells out of this world after foetid road smells: bean diet farts, carcass carts, violent Indian arts, wet furs, petrichor in weeping forests, burning Douglas firs.
Alchemisland 
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