Benjamin Fisher
Untitled: Cowboy’s eyes are…
Cowboy’s eyes are dirty water sharp
when they look right
through you.
Ahead in the rat race (sic.) fragment
smiles best with a loss
of equilibrium before he hits
the surface. Then tears, but only for a
little while.
Always fights sleep, peace by piece, as if the
hours can be stopped, broken, rearranged.
Fair hair straight through the eyes can’t
stop the sta[i]res leading to doubt.
WHAT HATH GOD WROUGHT? maybe not
Salvation, but mercy will do.
And I, for my part am not afraid when
held by little hands try to trace
the lines of my face; no—to change them.
Pandora plays another jukebox tune. Cowboy
crawls humbly to his blocks, careless.
I only hope vainly for a moment it can stay that way.
Second star to the right, no?