Heart Like A Dark Saloon

for Kell Robertson

Tonight your guitar
sings across the prairies
of Heaven.

A drunken angel kicks an alley cat
down the unmarked streets
of memory.

Where Love
is a daydream
that goes on

Where words
are eaten up
by the hunger
of crows.

Where myth
is the comfort food
of rabid dogs.

Where prayers
are spoken
and choked on.

Down this lonely highway,
one gun pointed toward regret,
you had a few too many
like we all do.

The carnival of your soul
stayed open after hours,
drinking in the night
in the cool dark saloons
of your heart.

John Dorsey