cowboy star

I walk through the
world like a cowboy
star under endless 
skies in chapless ass
and denim genes.

With no duress. 

My boots are short,
my hat is fast. A bit 
too tight, but made 
to last and strong
as seams.

The sun runs
hot above these
sets I pass through
all look fake.

Bad bets.

The bodies
flung around
like lead by my
big iron spoke no
part.

Just extras.
Counted up by head
and throwing weight
around in unconvincing
stunt, they fall. 

Drop dead,
and lie there
quiet, still. All punched
through red. 

This whole thing feels 
so cheap and fake, but 
I can hang.

Like anyone. 

All my life, I've been
dragging a corpse around
but one day I know

I will lay 
it down. 

So whatever rope,
I'll bear the lonesome
weight it takes and more 
than it can take,
until the day 
it breaks, 

undone
by gravity 
or gun 

- but no regrets,
make no mistake.

I just wish we had
more money
for better sets. That
"tree" for instance. Holy 
God my dog wouldn't piss
on that thing. It'd fall over 

on a fake snake