I spit goodbye into a shot glass
and you tossed it back
like a champ,
my little cowgirl scout,
dragging a dead horse through the desert
for your loneliness badge.
black eyes with a thirty-second paint job
soon the sun will crack the blue.
you are beautiful,
but it will come.
reverence for all the empty towns you've crossed
looking for loving,
shoplifting where none was found,
and all the ghosts you have floating your trail
to show for it.
let them catch you,
bare your cross,
and watch the sheets drop
to the hot, hot sand.