Life is an arrow pointing down,
a signpost from the heavens
to the ground.
It’s sharply beveled tip
reminds you, blood or crip,
that you’re just a prisoner
here on loan.
The direction that you take
don’t matter one whit, Jake.
The dirt will always own you,
skin and bone.
He wants to play your part.
He knows your lines by heart.
He’s got your moves all down.
He’s hoping you might drown.
And every time you sneeze,
he gets down on his knees.
If you should get the flu,
he’ll step right in for you.
An understudy won’t get very far
unless misfortune overcomes the star.
Beyond the beyond
is an everlasting pond.
Above the above
is a branch that holds the dove.
Inside the inside
is a mystery untied.
Below the below
there are things we cannot know.
Old smoke’s been replaced by vapor.
Cigar’s outmoded as paper.
Cowboys no longer ride horses,
drive their UV’s to golf courses.
No stage robbers, cattle rustlers.
Outlaws now are stock fraud hustlers.
The old west has surely changed.
It’s not wild now, just deranged.
I knocked when I was holding pairs.
I fell once going up the stairs.
I had a run but no one cares.
The day after cards is annoying,
the images burning and cloying.
My three on your threes.
I’ll take that eight, please.
The king’s on his knees
in the bathroom
and shuffling again.
Did I lose? Damn the booze!
Well, next week
I’ll break even or win.