Express from Denver and a Broken Hand

His pair
my immaculate nothing
a cackling tongue of wet desert dialogue

wet whiskey spits through the grey broom of his
overgrown upper lip thicket
roadside wood and glue warehouse licked
by a slobbering setting sun
passing without stopping the express belching
a filthy black smoke
still cold to the touch
her cry a carried blue memory from midnight's
mountain pass

some fanning bedlam laced in ostrich feathers
huff an arrogant abuse, the worn
platform detests her weathering and rebukes
her woolen weight

the 10:35 shrieks
regardless
a lingering farewell howl to haunt the hosts of dusk
that burning belly of hot hell
birth of spawns to carry her to morning's city

his pair
a king
or jester
a man
   cannot cup courage
   with trembling hands
I bluff
and with nothing I break his pair.

TA