Waterfall

Fountain

Flowers

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slipped between the memory of a past mistake

and anticipation of future consequences

and it creates a sadness that tears apart today

I should be able to find the place I am and live

but this thing crawls up inside me and takes up residence

it banishes all else to my amazement and dismay

the overwhelming anxiety of the past

the vague anticipation of the future

I didn’t have much of a choice
and if asked at the time I’d voice
the strongest of desents,
(I’d assume)

but looking at it now
I think if someone tried to give me a tip
I’d want it as much as fat lip

the helmet makes the man
and I can’t imagine who would plan
to wear a turtleneck swearer over their head
much less a helmeted head

another of god’s jokes or test
take it seriously
or in jest
but on the subject of circumcision
I think it’s a split decision

KK

He’s thinking instead about the ways of the world.

He says, “My Korean cowboy boots carry an American brand… But we all know they’re made in China.”

And then he moves on to the coat. “And the Gandolf hood?… Vietnam.”

TC

The first was a sure lock for the part of ending an opera, and the second apparently thought her eating disorder had earned her the right to flaunt the fact that “supermodels” are way too fat.

Yet both these ladies, in separate but equal bad decisions, had chosen a pair of black tights with a sweater pulled down just to the ass, as an accent to it’s shape.

Now, said fashion statement does work. It does call attention to the ass as it is intended. But the instant the Cowboy’s attention arrived there it fled in horror. “Oh my god, what IS that?!” was the exact response he got from his brain.

Of course, he knew full well what it was. He just couldn’t quite believe anyone would want to advertise it like that.

“This is my argument for nudity.” he proffered. “It’s perfectly understandable to me to leave your whole self out on the lawn. That’s your self… But to put a big sign out pointing out just your giant balls, or you bow legs, or your FAT or SKINNY ass… Well that’s just begging the wrong sort of attention.”

TC

The first to catch his eye was the snot nose lady. She of the dangling nose ring. The Transcendental Cowboy offered his handkerchief, then retracted it when he realized the globule he thought was a slimy snot ball about to slip off onto the lady’s coat was in fact just her choice of decoration. “I’m guessing you miss the third grade.” he said as he slinked off.

Then there was the middle aged white guy with his Asian family, dressed in the floor length coat. A coat that a twenty something Asian would have pulled off with style and grace. But the Cowboy thought, “This must be a gift from the family who doesn’t accept the fact that white dad is never going to be Asian, no matter how much he desires it.”

Later there was the pair of three hundred pound health care professionals, moving in unison behind their counter. The Transcendental Cowboy was transported to the Oklahoma City Zoo and the graceful ballet of the hippopotami. He snapped back in a brief moment and tried to give them the benefit of glandular disorder and an ignorance of modern medicine. “No reason a doctor would teach his staff medical knowhow. Better to keep them ignorant and sedentary and in their place.” he mused.

Soon the Transcendental Cowboy arrived to put himself in check, “Being a bit of a little bitch, today. Aren’t we?”

Never one to roll over for himself the Cowboy responded to his own suggestion, “Just the facts, Ma’am.” And he continued in a rant, “Why is it that I found in the traditional dress of the Tajik women such complete and obvious individuality? I mean, you could see it in their eyes. Yet when I see all the desperately contrived costumery of my own kind, it appears as some kind of cry for attention?”

“Well,” he responded in time, “you aren’t Tajik. Maybe if you were you would have thought that the girl with the dark scarf was desperately trying to distinguish herself from her sisters, all in their bright colors.”

The Transcendental Cowboy had to think about it for a while. Then finally he decided. “I’m certainly glad to have reached the age where I’m through being cool and can settle into my own little herd where I belong…
Curmudgeonly old white guys with no remaining sense of style.”

TC

Looking for something he said he lost. In his old Benz that, like him apparently, won’t die. I told him we had it.

But then he disappears again into the black inkwell recess of my heart, where all the dead people live.

AK

With the others off hiking or boating, the Cowboy has opted to “guard the fort” as it gives him time to do what he does best… be alone.

Not the the Transcendental Cowboy is really anti-social… he enjoys company. It’s just, the larger the group the more he slips into the “observer mode”. Still himself in an intimate group of four or so, he slips into more of a performance mode with 10 or 20 strangers and relatives. “And some of the people around here are relatively strange.” He mutters.

Not wanting to be judgmental, the Transcendental Cowboy quickly notes, “We’re all relatively strange, in one way or another.”

TC

Even the ones of me show me nothing but ghosts.

Who were those people
and where did they go?
Fear, pain, and hard work
will ultimately kill them all.

Can’t cut a digital photo into a million pieces.
You can only delete them.
And where’s the visceral satisfaction in that?

What would be the pleasure in simply pressing the delete button?

I’m never haunted by the dead,
it’s just the living dead (They’re only dead in my head).
Their ghost are my burden.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it,
being me,
if it kills so many people.

But it was them or me.

AK