Richard MacKinnon


We rode a jagged mother mountain
We dug a hole mining gold
Looking down a short straight road
We grew old while we grew old

Swept up some shiny dust
And put it in our saddle bags
Weighing down our dumb steeds
Headed towards eightball town
Where we would scratch and bleed

Gunned down the banditos
Who tried to steal our good
While it lay outside
Hidden in the wood

Trekked and wetly sweated
Over fretted through the desert certainty
Towards the horizon mirage
Dealt from the deck of false eternity

Caught in the storm of consequence
Had to hide in the bosom
Of the nearest stall
Our gold blew away
When we couldn’t see at all
In the winds of truth
Dust to dust before we rust
On a revolution back to Duluth

Finally saw holes in the monster monsoon
From just where we should stand
Ghosting through the walls
With our hands in our hands

We finally ate our horses
And rode the bareback of a burro
Golden companion champion
Following the winding young road narrow
Following a sparkling sparrow

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