The scene's two pickled cowboys
at ungodly three a.m.
thumbing through the pages
looking for the lines
while trying to succeed
in the remnants of a city
where public transportation
still has the right of way.
"Pass the pen, I found it!"
my conspirator exclaims
prior to reciting
a bit on shameless death.
It feels so right
to share our prayers
regardless of our state
since a jester lacking audience
is more or less a fool.
To love is to surrender
and reality's perception
so even if they take this night
I've had it, I don't mind.
It all flows back
to the same old bit--
they don't want
what we can't give.
We whip them off their pedestals
and strap our six-guns tight.
I'm often not at liberty
to share my true adventures
but this one made it all worth
coming home to face my sheets.
There's nothing like a friend
from smoother trails who's seen your
stumble and still reserves a spot
on your couch when back in town.
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