The Buffalos and Billy the Kid: Raymond, Washington, circa 1951

Sharp shooting pin- 
Ball wizards shoot 

Wads of nickels 
Into bellies 

Of blinking beasts, 
Then mosey on up- 

Stairs to vanishing 
Breed of past 

Prime whores still 
Alive but barely 

Kicking on dying First Street— 
Saloon’s mascot urchin 

Gets down on all fours 
Under Ballys— 

Has more than a hunch 
A few stray buffalo heads
 
Have yet to bite the dust. 

Bleeding Heart Haiku

Go on—bloody cry; 
Your heart hasn’t run out yet— 

Give it one more try. 

Reverse Arrested Development

Why is it 

My three-year-old 
Granddaughter can 
Entertain herself 

For hours on end 
With nothing save her 
Imagination when 

I try musing with that idea 
I end up with nothing 
But a dead end. 

Flesh Wound

look again— 


nothing too 

superficial— 


how even this small 

sliver working it- 


self out 

has to 


heal. 

Troubling Inner Sanctum

Call me 
Quasimodo if you want, 
But whenever I feel 
I have to venture deep 
Inside the troubled 
Heart, I make doubly sure 
All doors are barred 
And the window 
Shutters shut tight— 
I brook no grotesque salivating 
Straitjacketed curiosity 
Seekers disturbing 
My mind’s deformed slant.