Black Cloaked Man
In one ghost whisper of a town,
the mourning sunset had bloodshot eyes
A tombstone place that was
long shadow
past it’s boomtown prime
Withering eureka hope fills the short cups
of the abandoned mine folk
Whiskey tears takes a canary desperado gulp
Purgatory waiting ~ Gut rot
has all the suicidal time in the world
to stomach more wasted dreams
On this dying twilight night,
a bad moon is darkly rising ...
as the half-empty
saloon
doors
swing
During visitation of a short desert weep,
a 6-foot four
twin emerald glow mysteriously
steps out of the downpour
A black-cloaked man,
with twelve lead fingernails,
was tapping a cold metal dirge melody
as he walked in
Taking up space for two,
the raven-haired man said to no one in particular,
Death was his sidearm friend
After ordering the strongest bottle
from a shakily, weak-handed bartend ...
the tall, dark-clothed man
saw gambling courage slowly returning
in the pale faces of the paying patrons
Green hue greed shone in the mirror reflection —
his baleful, beryl stare saw that avarice look before
Plenty of bottom card dealt undertaker action
was coming ... coffin photos taken of a bloody floor
Midnight was always the best time
for quick draw ire killings
When drunken surfeit hearts had a belly full
of wanton violence feelings
Losing was the spark
that lit the firewater spillings
Scarlet darkness overshadowed
the cemetery sob kneelings
Cloaked in the mantle of a soul reaper,
the blackness of a red bullet hole
was a grim reminder
to those witnessing the terrifying departure
of slow hand ...
cheating, widow purse keepers —
That a dozen toasts for the living
always were closing-of-the-eye cheaper
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