Boots and Jacket
blur
and that feathered V of the boot
hiding under a ninety-degree angle
same as the angle the world imposes on lone cowboys
life burned into sepia-tone layers
modern-day Marlboro men forced to leather up and traipse about inside of it,
walking without quite letting the world touch them
western roles bled into each other and into wood-grain memories,
bar stories loping away,
nights spent at the race track before betting became such an unlucky habit,
weighted lorries, evenings before anyone else seemed to mind cigarette smoke
chest coat pocket hidden smolderings,
hazed chest coughs wheezed in the evenings at home
now serving as a reminder to those days. lonely homes long-since forgotten to wrangling
and empty picture frames
the glass given in to blank space,
wondering where time goes, how it manages to redefine,
to undermine this place abandoned boots like an abandoned photo
y’all walking on, treading on frayed edges
out-blur disgrace