Twenty-Third Entry

I have no idea.

Here's my poem:

WHAT THE COWBOY MEANS TO ME

The spacesuit draped with sweat
appeared last night like the past whipping me in the lips.

I smelt the cigar smoke, felt
the shoulder cramp of huddling inside the heavy.

Did you hear the gunshot,
fading yellow across the street like John Wayne with Dutch Elm’s?

I donned my Stetson
and leapt from the roof into the arms of whispering stuntwomen.

When my skin was taken from me,
the desert felt of card game tables became my tuxedo.

My motorcycle twitches
with the Seminole fear I emailed you about.