LAST RIDE WITH CAPTAIN DASH AND BLACK COLT CODY
Captain was always key for opening her sky's with a third eye-hole.
I ride along for one last haroo....
That rabid dog spit-lead saint and that hoof-pounding gallant menace. Dash, a killer with a rotting goldface grin like mud blasted from a slabtown negro's silver Colt; deadly, damned and black powder clean; blessed to never trust less his lever action ever rust.
"Well Cody," he said, "Time to ride. Time to leave one last cry behind."
They took to the trail half tired and half ready to be fully alive, to feed off an old score to settle: Deliverance by the hunter who's hunger will never fix, to free souls from the mortal loath of the black veiled hoax.
Captain, summoning ol' winding-sheet-glory,
"I give you nothing for here I was got. Nothing for nothing and want for want."
Speaking from another tongue from another realm,
"No wife, no widow, no comrade. The stray above, the stray below. Put 'em where they go."
-- A sermon only heard in the flesh by Cody, and by whom those realms did so preach.
And though Black Colt Cody was a dear old friend, yet by days-end he'll have to put a round through his head. It's with hungers misery that he'll be awaiting 'the salute' and starving for lead.
On the trail, morning blue passes to mid-day sun. Dull in the clouds, sharp on arrival. No time was wasted in the galloping gusts when doom was brushing it along. It was a long ride and a thought consumed its time.
Now to beat the days-end, and glassing at a distance, they spot the rotting little farmhouse which becomes visibly more rotten as the approaching ride arises from the haze. Nothing is around. A dried out water well with a smashed bucket in the dirt. No livestock, no children, no sound, not a life-like thing around. But they knew there was to be one wretched sound to come from the emptiness soon.
With the sun sinking to the left side of the house, they hold at a stones throw from the rat-gnawed stairless porch, strewn with smashed glass whiskeychug from gut-rot whores. Funds had surely run dry for this old lot. Dash, his attention quickly drawn from the wreckage to a pale white face which appears in the dank doorless black hole; an inhuman dead-pan stare, so odd and godly pale, rendering itself neither male or female. Its body blending with the black inside, a most vile display of all. If not for a few thin rays of light which bleed through pistol rounds out the sunset wall, one would not conclude to a women's figure in a long black dress.
From the doorway, keeping at her own distance, the woman calls out with the uttering tone of a potion-cart carnival quack,
"Captain, you're home. Oh I missed you so."
Wasting no time, he replies with a yell knowing well what he was expecting to hear,
"I ain't your Captain, and I ain't your friend. I'm your foe! A doom dragger who looks like someone you know. To put an eye to your forehead like heaven watches woe!"
And slowly she looks down lost in her own maze. Then quickly raises her head to be met with a blast. Her sky's open wide as hell and she fell, back into the black hole.
. . . A short ride to an old place sacred, the spit-lead saint then dismounts grim and wipes the sweat from his bullet scar brow. He gives a most noble salute to his weary haroo. And before the sun sets, Black Colt Cody's buried with the last dash of tears.
-----------I never uppercase on the letter 'i' unless it begins a sentence. just the way i write for better or worse. I am aware of my unorthodox writing and arrangement. Anyways........this is a slackjaw style piece inspired by wild west stories. Stories of the wastelands.....
An odd story/prose-poem mix. Wrote it this last Christmas
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