Good Cowboy Lost

Good Cowboy Lost

Bookstore Cowboy; wind-thrashed hair;

Good Cowboy lost; eyes that never stare

behind Truman Capote glasses

and me with my five-dollar Matisse.


Why do you wait behind those black circles?

What would happen if you sought?

Would the dam—the damn dam—crumble,



Wash, Erupt, Engulf, Arouse, Envelop, Morph,

Flow over toward everything and everyone?

Those Capotes would float,

and the Matisse,

the damn Matisse,

would crumble.

Good Cowboy lost, sunlight and day;

out of the shadows we pass,

one going this, and the other

that way.


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