Cowboy Archetype Survival Guide

In the Western his eyes project
onto the poem, he draws flowers
from his holster ready for a shootout
with bees. Ellipses move like tumbleweeds
through this one horse town of thought.
The spurs of reuptake spurn his sleep
in the stubborn syntax of dead hours.
His gun’s scorned tongue sizzles—
Outta Prozac, Cowboy! The voice shatters
in its echo chamber. BANG! Wounded
at the I’m-O.K.-but-really-NOT-O.K. Corral.
Last seen riding high into a serotonin sunset.
Or hung noose-wise like an exclamation mark.
The cowboy hides in childhood memory
doodling stick men shooting Morse code.
BANG! A draft of one more alone ranger—
this time it’s personal. This time
he’s not your fearless gunslinger. Your
emotionally hollow outlaw. BANG!
You’re saddled with smoke and mirrors,
a man mired in his own mirage.