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Another Cowboy Song

Fingertips know the way
Forehead, chest, left shoulder, right

Because of you
I sang cowboy songs

Tilted palms
Open to the sky
Or perhaps a ceiling

Is it you or me
Beginning to hate all these lazy things
Manila envelopes, broken barstool, scrap of lace,
Postcard advertisement

I walk on
Hooking thumbs into belt-loops
A pair of blue jeans, disembodied
Walk on

I wish I had something perfect
Like a perfect delicate lily-wrist

Perfect
Too perfect to slit
Not side-to-side
But lengthwise
Through all the soft-trod miles of my life

I will turn you into a religion
And lie under the stars
With words – your simple rosary beads
Strung tight around my unsuspecting lily-neck
I will count them forwards and backwards
Until the coyote sings
And I find sleep

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