Shootout at the O.K. Corral

Tumble weeds whisper
across the barren landscapes of my heart.
The ghost town stands empty,
save that last lone leper
holding on with dear life
pulling up that poisonous patch of devil grass.
Wind whipping through
the bat wings of the saloon
looking for one last shot.

Speak those words to me
amid all the excuses
back peddling
and dried up wells.
Water and oil parting ways
still panning for fool’s gold
a King’s ransom
bought and paid for
by his blood,
slipping through your fingers
like a sieve.

Bid me pick up my mat and walk.
Walk the walk and talk the talk
shake off the dust of this world
in places that are too close for comfort.
I know not how it got there.

Get out of Dodge
while you still can.
Vultures,
circling overhead
this town’s for the birds.

Keep on keeping on
the path.
one step at a time,
one day at a time.
Because over that hill
is your oasis,
maybe more desert
or just a mirage.

But at least you’re making good time.

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