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Contents: 

Godspeed
The Coal in the Engine
Never Was a Cowboy
Hangtown Hymn
Snow Love

Ballad of Jotham
If I Go Blind
Loose End
 
Godspeed

I.

Godspeed to your frightened little self.
It all felt like a game when you were thrown
off the wooden bridge in the middle of the forest,
borne by the river and raised by its torrents,
but a stick caught in the river's race
is at the mercy of the river's pace
and at the mercy of the course it takes.
 
II.
 
Godspeed to your frightened little self.
You worry like a child at the fair
And whirl in this eddy like a sickening Ferris wheel
Circled starry orbits, but none of them were real.
You saw perfection staying in one place,
Took stagnation as a form of grace,
At the mercy of the river’s pace.

Godspeed to your mighty little self.
I’d rather be a stick than be a stone,
I’d rather be a-drifting than call the bottom home.


III.

Godspeed to your mighty little self.
No deluge, dock, or dam will block the way.
The estuary calls with several theories and fates,
Suggests you remain calm while gravity navigates.
As the world is a carnival, the heavens are a carousel;
Dreams are always circular and days are always parallel
And if they stone you and kick you in the face,
Stick up for the river and its pace.
The current rocks you forward into place.

Godspeed to your mighty little self.
I’d rather be a stick than be a stone,
I’d rather be a-drifting than call the bottom home.

The Coal in the Engine

Underneath a frightening sky a window-light was glowing
as though it were a boiler room with a bright red bed of coal.
Somewhere inside a woman worked to keep the fire going,
Enabling an engine to export the country cargo of her soul.

When she danced her slender bones were like a model train set
Whose engine moved with grace between the stations of her
hands.
I waited for a chance to board on each occasion they met,
Or else a chance to jump across the junctions in between the iron
spans.

I don’t know what dancing builds, but it is not a boundary
And in the wind the title lines of pastures were obscured.
My muscles, skin, and sweaty clothes were falling all around me,
But I couldn’t hang the meaning on the famous golden spike of the word.

Many counties blew away and we forgot the names
of desolate and desperate lots untouched by any human
Fences in the dust bowl fell in homesteads without claims
But even with the borders gone, it doesn’t make a union.

The coal in the engine is not the engine.
The light in the tower is not the tower.
The man in the woman is not the woman
The water in the river is not the river.

Never Was a Cowboy


I never was a cowboy but I’m sometimes a rambling man
Sleeping on the backroads and traveling through the mountains
and the meadowlands.
I've seen the country is big and the country is good
But I haven’t seen as much of it as I probably should.
Still, I’ve learned to be a liar and I bet I could fake it as a ranch
hand.

I never was a cowboy but I’m sometimes a singer of songs.
Sometimes it feels alright, and sometimes it feels all wrong.
When I am doubtful, will you be my relief?
I’ll live like a gambler or die like a thief
Who bets on you all day, and steals from you all night long.

Chorus:
We do not want want,
We do not need need,
But we sure do love love,
We love love indeed.

I never was a cowboy but I walked through many a field
Waiting for the secrets of the wealthy to be magically revealed.
As I trespass in pastures worth millions of dollars
I come across mastiffs with brass plated collars
And for every wound they’ve caused, there’s another wound that
they have healed.

I never was a cowboy but I also never worked a 9 to 5.
A man who wears a saddle, they say, is only halfway alive.
I won’t put on neckties and I can’t use spreadsheets
So I look like a beggar and I act like a deadbeat
But it’s noon on a Tuesday and I think I might go for a drive.

[to Chorus]

I never was a cowboy but I’m sometimes a folk balladeer.
That’s as close as anybody gets who lives around here.
I could hit the road again, I may in March or April
Because the house is always empty and the neighbors are so
hateful
But springtime is coming and the green grass is starting to
appear.

I never was a cowboy but love is running through my veins
Brighter than the sunshine and wider than the great western
plains
Please don’t be a drought to me and choke the ground with
turpentine
Can’t you be my patroness, will you be my valentine?
I’m looking at you the way that flowers look at long-awaited rains

[to Chorus]

I never was a cowboy but a part of me still loves the lord
It’s the part of my body where my hope of salvation is stored
With riding and roping I’m only a beginner,
And you’re such a beauty, I don’t feel like a sinner
But they’re going to string me up by the loop at the end of their
cord.

I never was a cowboy but sometimes I live on the run.
They act like my sandals are pistols, and my hope is a shotgun
Through valleys and canyons, through alleys and avenues,
A man needs his lies like a horse needs his shoes,
And I never was a cowboy, but sometimes I feel like one
.


Hangtown Hymn

Without picks or shovels in the dry ditch they dug;
Ten thousand dollars in two days they drug.
The riches of the riverbed would shock any man
That caught wind on the hot wind of my homeland.
So down on my knees, in the soil I pawed
And I thought again of the meadowland, and my family, and
god.


Call upon your angels, your prairie seraphim.
Sing for your lost son a Hangtown hymn.
My belly is a cavern, my vision's growing dim.
Sing for your lost son a Hangtown Hymn.

But the riches of the riverbed dried up right quick
So they reroute the river with a dynamite stick
And the sound of the thunder would shock any man
That caught wind on the hot wind in my homeland.
When a man from the mine offered up steady pay
I thought again of the meadowland and signed straightaway.

Now dust thick as flour is filling my lungs;
It turns into hard tack when it sits on my tongue.
The toil I've endured would shock any man
That caught wind on the hot wind in my homeland.
Now all that I eat is the stone that I carve.
I thought again of the meadowland as I slowly starved.

They caught me stealing in the village last night.
A rope like a rattlesnake coiled round me tight.
The growl of my hunger would shock any man
That caught wind on the hot wind of my homeland.
No hymn was sung, no church bells clanged.
I thought again of the meadowland as my body hanged.

Snow Love

I notice the outlined boughs
of the halfway-buried elm;
I can count the tips of them now,
but soon they’ll be overwhelmed

as the ground piles up to the heavens
and the heavens fall down through the air;
they meet at the skyline horizons
like palms pressed together in prayer.

I’m in love with the snow
because of all the things it doesn’t know
It doesn’t know what it’s falling on,
whether a meadow or a road,
doesn’t know what sunshine is,
and doesn’t know it snowed.

But it tricks me into feeling adept,
how the footprints are fixed at first,
the impressions of places I stepped
stay in meadows and roads I traversed

but the storm pushes on for an hour,
erases my bootsoles’ tread,
spreading a white sheet of powder
on the cities of the living and the dead

but when anything is equally imminent
in a winter that follows a fall,
I praise you for being indiscriminant,
I love you for burying us all.

Ballad of Jotham


Jotham knelt
as he prepared.
Mary Lynne felt
small and scared.

So he started,
"I am known
as cruel-hearted,
made of stone,

yet like a root,
sweet Mary Lynne,
your flower and shoot
are under my skin

breaking apart
what people see
as a cold, stone heart -
please marry me."

As he proposed
all the blood left her face.
The door slammed closed.
"Now leave this place,

Jotham, you listen,"
Mary Lynne cried.
"I'd prefer prison
to being you bride."

Close the shutters, draw the shades,
and drop the deadbolts in.
Here come Jotham looking for
his lovely Mary Lynne.

Storming off burning,
Jotham vowed
he'd be returning.
He swore aloud,

"Like early ice
down on the river
strikes the mill twice,
so I will give her

a second try,
turn her around.
I trust that I
am breaking ground."

He walked home briskly,
sat by himself,
took his mash whisky
from its oak shelf

and downed it like water,
liter on liter,
hotter and hotter,
dying to meet her,

lost all his calm,
slammed the glass hard
and ripped his palm
on a breaking shard.

So all through the trip
Jotham left red,
blossoming drips
in the snow as he bled

long from his shack
to sweet Mary Lynne's,
yelling, "I'm back,
won't you please let me in."

He banged the door
and the blood came glistening,
banged once more
like a horrible christening

leaving two prints,
crimson and clear
but fruitless since
his darling dear

had left for town
hours ago.
The blood turned brown
overnight in the snow

and the river froze.
They found Jotham sealed
where the river goes
by the old mill wheel.

Close the shutters, draw the shades
and drop the deadbolts in.
Here comes Jotham looking for
his lovely Mary Lynne.

Close the shutters, draw the shades,
and hide yourself inside.
Last night winter stopped the river
and last night Jotham died.




If I Go Blind: A Campfire Song


If I go blind I hope to have fond memories of sight:
a face by firelight,
silhouettes at night,
a lake on the left and a lady on the right.

If I go deaf I hope to have fond memories of sound:
laughter all around,
rain upon the ground,
and all the lovely melodies I've found.

If I go numb I hope to have fond memories of feeling:
the cool breeze of evenings,
love and health and healing,
understanding poems and their meanings.

And if I go I hope to have fond memories of you:
the pictures that we drew,
songs that we both knew,
dreams that we remembered and made true.




Loose End


Talking to you just makes me feel lonelier
like kissing a mirror in an empty house.
There's twice as much solitude,
twice as many open windows
and still only one crying mouth

and the bad words come out backwards.

My friends are all characters
in seminal, century long novels I've recently read.
Founded in prophesy,
sounded in poetry,
surrounded by suitable friends.

And I am just a useless loose end.

They vanish in wars and turn up in bars
and get turned into roses and dandelions.
Their letters and deeds
like petals and seeds
growing older and more and more dignified.

And even my phone calls go unanswered.

If my reflection gets carried to heaven
and leaves me behind like a stem,
there's knickknacks for the windowsills
and kickbacks for the daffodils
to remember how important I am.

And the mirror is my closest to honest best friend.

And the bad words come out backwards
and I am just a useless loose end
and even my phone calls go unanswered

and I am just a useless loose end,
la de da.