Paris's Boothill
out to sea
countless miles hand to the tiller
to find that brief moment
on the crest of a twenty foot breaking wave
as a nor'easter wilds the sea
when you glimpse it
in the stillness between heaven and earth
she hid in her bedroom
looking at a late fall paris passing rainstorm
and on the run down east side facing the setting sun
she could just make out another lover fleeing town with
his creditors in hot pursuit
he owed so much for the words he had abused
up on paris's boothill
the gunslingers and thieves wouldn't have ya
it was in that darkest hour she glimpsed it in the mirror
under the bewitching stars
in the anvil of desolation's wasteland of high desert
on the cusp of the suns imminent rise
you can see it in the broiling fire
as the edge of the world itself appears to burn
you can see clearly that this end
of your little world
is but a door which you stand at the threshold
many times in your life
step into the fire or frying pan
step into the next world you will live in
or try vainly to escape into the past
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