blow it all away by db cox

— for Brautigan

onetime voice
of the counterculture
found—dead as hell
rotting on the floor
beside a bottle
& a .44
loser
in a one-man gunfight—
caught lowdown
during those risky seconds
of the night
when dark fingers
started to pull
at his dirty shirt
until he was mesmerized
by the sexy eyes
of that old whore suicide

trout fisherman at rest—

no more clawing
at the walls
of his box—cursing
the empty soul of sanity

no more stumbling
toward the end-of-the-line
up to his neck
in accumulated time

now that the fire
has died away
the wolves
have moved in
to have at his bones

howling
their perfect hate
now that he is gone