I’m not spoken anymore
Dried in a bottom of dust
Let my soul sing
With fire sparks tonight
Can’t I get along alone
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
Forget every song
I’ve written all wrong
Glory and frail,
Perfect and undone
Startling morning sun
My breath: heavy hung
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
Empty this bucket
Lost in a sea
Between footsteps
Greeting me
And it’s dark
Close my eyes
To forget
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
Gone to sleep again with extra dollars to my name
Which have left me with a memory that cannot escape recollect
But what if I could just leave it in a bucket by the door
Would the regular pauper find just what he wanted, what he was looking for?
Could then my neighbours sleep come easier than before?
A light that shall not come;
Shadowing my lonely heart
Into depths of wild regret.
A wild stallion rears it’s fiery mane,
And a God opens her palms
In an intimate reveal;
My heart shall always ask in dance.
And there sits the emptyness,
A lone bucket untouched,
Unshaven. Unfilled.
There I would rush around the stone well, the little arch covering darkness and holding a squeaky bucket as it slips. I glide as the dog snarls, hovering just far enough away because it knows what’s good for it.
A deck chair squeaks back and forth like the broken weather vane whispering from the roof. I eye it slowly as sun peaks over my mystery horizon and look around for a glass to quench my thirst. Sometimes a savage I must be.
Small herds of livestock check their watches against the consistency of the grass, it’s not easy being a rambling herd. Especially in these dry times of year, especially with the river running so low.
My spurs rang through the air like the hot sun stung, not a soul around this dry place.
Cursing, I sat down at the weathered kitchen table; a hard seat and cold beans. A window and dusty particles distracting my angel heart, because I am here to love and the long coat isn’t my true calling.
I tracked like the Cheyenne, a good ghost. I could find a trail on a rock boulder. The wind spoke to me as it washed over the vista, and I was a good long shot.
[note: to read the full epic track my land]
Slimy surfaces slide
Smoothly along the gravity
Inclined gradients
Wheels help
But speed kills
Mind your buckets
Safety first