Spaghetti-oh my!

We’ve got Bitter in our Mouths

Never Trust a Woman with a Broke heart

Swear to God that’us the first thought came Cross his head

his ambient hand skirting the desert Floor for a Revolver

Having it Holstered his next instinct to Hoist himself up answered by a

Sharp Jetsam of pain in his hip

He’d been shot for Hours, the blood stifled by the dirt and style of the wound was nevertheless profuse

Now stood up he took three mostly turned steps and surveyed his surroundings,

same as they were he still felt a certain discomfort with their disarray

the now mostly dead Horrendous Eight strewn about

Terriffic Confessions each, the Secrets of their deaths

hidden guns and skinning knives Sucker-punched all about them

he stole the lighter of now dead Number-Six and illuminated a cigarette

in order he Might chance by some reason for his mood

the impressive pain near his holster quickly extinguished by the two

and some mile walk he’d have to make back to town

the Turkey Vultures eyeing his wound where certain enough to follow him home,

a Company and Prosession

He was Doomed, probably the chances were slim as the shadows in that High Impossible Sun

counting the dead for what they were and promising on his mothers dead Body to bury them

he proposed some water to his lips, which they quickly rejected in hurtful spits

the now dust ridden hacked up remembering how destitute it really was

but sure-as-hurt his color slowly returned

the sweat cursing the talcum collected to his face into a sort of mud-like Acumen,

the hardened features of his face took that first step steadily homeward

scooping up his Remington and Colt from the stone glass of his now dead compatriots

he had to make this right

toying with a few men’s hearts, now that’ll get a gal killed and she had to learn that,

for that she had to die, and he, he had to live