Street Corner Cowboy
Another day bites the dust
as the velvet night closes her drapes
on the flickering horizon.
A street corner cowboy
in denims, Tony Lamas and a ten gallon hat
is riding his dreams to the nearest saloon.
After a few drinks
his dreams seem a little more tangible;
a little less vague.
What is the texture of his dreams?
How much do they weigh?
Can they be measured at all?
After a few more drinks
he doesn’t care about much
except the next drink.
As dawn’s first streamers
cut through night’s ebbing waves
another day has been buried
in Boot Hill;
in the fading dreams
of the street corner cowboy.