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A Drunken Pity-Killing at Phoenix Corral
By: Alexander R. Wilkerson

A tumbleweed blew past,
As each held his forty-five fast.
The sun was rising as vermilion and rushed gold,
Air was hard to breathe, straight and rather cold.
A decrepit steer skull sits off to the side of the dirt path,
Smirking at the kid and his imminent bloodbath,
A dragonfly flutters past the barrel of his boomstick,
You best fire first, kid -- and quick.

It was dawn.
Good morning sunshine, awake
When the sun hits the sky...
“Be a good boy today! Stay away from that town noose-tie!”
Spoke mother to son as he hastened for the door,
A rising son, ready to do the ultimate favor (the hardest chore).

“Life is not to end with Death, Death is to end with Life,”
-- Whispered the man who pulled out his gun.

“But how is Life to begin?”
-- Roared the man who started this one.

“God only knows,”
-- Muttered the kid, who pulled the trigger and gave life to his drunken father.

Article Source: http://journal.ilovephilosophy.com

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