I might call this the trouble with Yeats,




now then that I’m cowboy, up

along the river Marias,

up along north central

Moontana,

on patrol bounding my diminutive




ranch, riding herd on the ant

stock, flushing

strays from crevasse and holler, my

burnt hat sienna, saddled




and ridden herd sleek

on my hot dog, butt




I abide




concordant and creek,




purchase fatigue at discount

when flaming, grapple




crest squeak saddle crony

mount creep,




the con tin

tin ambulant




divide




urgent, an outlaw however flimsy the clause, any

way pleasant within




certain inconsistencies,

common unknown torpid and flat,




get along doggie

bosk slat master terrene,




skew collateral blind

detour over thumb river and

into the brume,




maze of wayward

meander, intersect and




recede

amid timber and under a snow

fall without breeze and woven

of silence




no




oak, spruce useless to name

where boreal and luminous, and written

in brune, an old man in an ice husk scrapes

out a waltz on an old violin.