THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE
Outsider Hippie Woman Art
Outsider Hippie Woman Art
Artwork (c) Singleton 2007
Poetry (c) Bachman 2007
every string of hats from dead cowboys
each face painted with a new life;
Some found that old Boot Hill
was all of the
three hundred and sixty five
one night stands...
Every dead cowboy met his match
on that one night
he stood up to you;
my stranger
how many hats do you own? do you wear?
how many six shooters?
three hundred sixty five
this year to the day
you shoot straight,
somewhere between the eyes
or in the the knees
sparing the heart
or or at least sparing the hat--
but always the hat,
so you can paint
it shades of your lifeblood mosaic
and all the many broken but useable
blues
that you learned to sing
when we were all too young
to know where dead cowboys
hang their hats
when its time to say goodnight
with a hope that they've found a home
for one last night
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