Wild hogs nibble on bodies in the newest ditch.
Years have wheezed by since justice sang in this place.
All the nights are full of dying stars praying.
The saloon burned down during Sunday mass.
Tired hands explore a revolver's familiar curves.
Even the dry riverbeds seem dryer these days.
At first the blood seemed so bright. So exciting.
Red turned to black and now the dead moan.
Prairie winds spread snarling grass fires.
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