Out West

Where the trucks haul shake blocks
and the hillbillies drink home brew
where towns have been flooded
for government reward.
Where darkness falls early
with failing light
it's hard to shoot road signs
through the likes of one eye.

Gerrard Trout

They are difficult to pull from a photo
but they exist.
20 to30 inches a piece
jumping and splashing.
This years run totals 1000.
They live deep in the wild
where soil is so rich
it once grew gold.

Headed West Again

Time comes to a head
the river calls my name
fresh water for the home brew.
Blood in my veins
moves me to the mountains
music brings me to myself.
Solitude in my cereal bowl
floats the current
pulling me upstream
lost in an eddy of time
with rain on the stoop
and a clouded sky.

Up the Creek

Not a bight, but the lake offered sight of Bishop's old canoe. Jack hadn't seen him in a while nor had Bishop's wife, there was rumour of bishop rowing upstream to an old cabin on the rivers edge where he kept secrets. A candle light the din of the cabin, cards lay on the pine wood table and Bishop held tight to a 5th of whiskey. He knew his cover was broke and they would be surrounding the old cabin in no time, he was spinning and grinning and welcomed the joust. Jack saw the dust cloud just behind the cabin and heard the whinny of horses, their guns were loaded as was Bishop's and when the candle was blown out Jack knew Bishop would prevail.

Jack's Last Dance

Jack came home for his friends wedding reception, it would be good, he hadn't ate well in months. The hall was filled with old friends, food and booze. Jack was thinner than he had been in years. Toasted ketchup and Ichiban soup his main staple. A couple of old skanks Jack had screwed years prior, were lingering like stale smoke. Jack was filling himself on free whiskey and ham and cheese sandwiches when the prettier of the two came to sell their wares, Jack grabbed at a hand full of ass cheek that had fallen from its keeper and slid his finger in just enough to taste a smell. That warranted a slap in which Jack lost a mouth full of ham and cheese. So he snuck a whiff of his finger and ordered another drink. Soon skank # 2 was buttering his bread and ordering his whiskeys. Jack stumbled off the tables with his untucked white shirt soaking up spilt drinks blowing kisses of chewed bits at the lovelies. Soon the food was being packed away and skank #2 had a firm grip on Jack's crotch, he followed her to her beat up Maverick and she whisped his drunken stupor home to her condemned palace of pleasure. She lit candles and lay a bed spread on the floor, she was a romantic and Jack was a horn dog with a bone, he thought he would make it simple and went for it from the top side with vision through one eye, one maybe two strokes into it, he belched from deep within, then as he tried tried hold back he came like a volcano erupting ham and cheese all over her hair. It was a bloody mess but Jack had not had sex in quite some time either, so he kept on stroking until he collapsed in her puke covered hair, four or maybe five strokes later.