Or Maybe

Maybe he was best fit for the frontier life
Tall grasses swaying in the wind
long, sweaty, summer days complete with
apple pies coolin on a window sill…

Or maybe
he was just bullshitting himself
Influenced by a cheesy period flick
Like butterless popcorn to most but
he had a fetish
a certain attraction to these old timey filters
as if somehow familiar..


Cravings of a 2bit Butcher

He missed getting punched in the ribs
And more than that tenderizing meat with bone
The way knuckles would carve into a body
As if kneading hard dough
A weekly habit
Wednesday night street fights
Soles scratching against gravel
Kicking stone in multiple angles
Leather clashing against wind crashing into flesh
Causing ripples preluding to crater
The indention of a butcher




When there is no reason left to fight

You will sit still

Allowing life to pass you by

In effect becoming stone

The winds & waves of change

will wash over you

Chipping away at you

Until only dust remains


You dont wanna be alive
You cant kill yourself
You’re just sittin around..
Like life is just one big limbo
Looping the same experience
Over and over and over again