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Sonnet 40
Half-gun will travel on the western front,
Beyond brothels...gunpowder of debri.
Myself the man that blissful bulletts hunt,
As he that shoots has lost his wife to me.
From dusk 'till dawn my death deceives the day,
By sun and shadows guns illuminate.
So swift did summer sin a song to pray,
Upon that grave my spurs would gravitate.
Herdsmen and hoarses hearken to the hyme,
Of fire flushed from weaponry with flames.
And as I bled my heart did hold the crime,
Of loving her that shared her heart with games.
Wounded by way of weak and stubborn will,
Dying at dawn, death on this western wheel.
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