Dark Day In New Mexico

Death bells ring through tumbleweeds in the wind of the West,
When the sun draws its eyelids on yet another slow hand,
As fate burns in its victim, now lost to the dust,
Whose fallen vision is the grasp of a heartless sky
And a last flicker of that bustle, with her bosom of lust
Thrown at his feet, still firm and proud on the sand.
Some day too soon, that smoking vaquero, I’ll test.

As a man in black, I reflect the color of destiny,
Like the end of town, that mirrors the approaching nightmare.
His face is soaked - in each drop glisten his murders;
The last infinity breaks, with silence in his spurs.
Mystery is a horror, of eyes and thoughts gathered everywhere,
Until I hear not, the sound of the burning inside of me.

Patiently, her heart is a tremor in a stream of woes,
Like the suddenness of Mahler’s horns, out of breath.
She finds instead, his appearance fulfilling her doorway,
Because when two go out to gamble with death,
Only one returns for the bustle, and bosom, and rose.