Search Party

Search Party

there’s no way out
I really am someone
who likes my own
Inner Mongolia
up beyond the green steppe
where slow happens quickly
like freezing to death
holding fast to that
frosty walking stick 
and then I think lovingly 
that had I been a paramour 
I would likely be drawn 
to skyrockets that lit the barrio
with their acoustic shadows
and it strikes me how much
Butch Cassidy
and the Sundance Kid
made it all look so good
in the pictures flashing
chance encounters, after all 
who gets to name themself 
Sundance Kid, 
smiling like sun gods
it appeared they had found 
the place we cannot name
that hangs now by a yarn, awake 
in the promise of a bear claw 
and a lock of her hair 
who saw it all go down
and I won’t give up
because I know 
there will be a fabulous new song
for when I finally make
my mad dash 

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