THE GATHERING

A jukebox holds the room hostage neon’s struggle scratchy songs labor in love patrons huddle in whispers   a black checkered floor receives night traffic crumpled napkins a phone number written in red.   cracked seat cushions welcome the tired and depressed   a lone waitress slow motion hats tipped, heavy mascara leather jackets tattoos … More THE GATHERING

BUNK HOUSE

Red cowboy boots. Dust with living legends. Blue jeans, the working uniform. Skies with danger and full sun. The aroma of wet hay and work horse saddles.  Leather reins, the steering wheel bound to a bit. Seasons that blend.  Calloused hands. Facial lines, the human rings of trees. Sweat stained hats.  Beards and tattoos. Cold … More BUNK HOUSE

RACE DAY

On the backstretch they disappear into the land. The occasional  rising of a head is momentarily glimpsed. Even from here, the pounding of the earth is faintly heard. The crowd remains silent as they emerge from the final curve. Nostrils flaring, leather and sweat, taught reins, hooves ripping the dirt aside. They are massed together. … More RACE DAY

NEVER FAILS

I see visions of tomorrow. Clubs with open doors, red seats and low smoky lights; melting drinks and bowls of peanuts. Freight trains rumble by with freeloaders hanging on as winds rustle their shirts and jackets and hair without hats.   Fast talking and slow moving salesmen hawk everything, especially what they don’t own.  Kids … More NEVER FAILS