Roundup (Poetry)

For all my dreams of freedom
I am stuck right here —
caught in a tightening mind-loop
thoughts lassoed and struggling
performing words a rodeo
part of a tinpot wild west show
a novelty act
writing bareback.

That old blue mountain music
wove a rope around me.
I imagined I could muster up a storm
of pretty bronco riders
the unbroken forms all waiting eager
trotting round in circles
kicking clouds of dust
raring to go...

Ambition bucked and glamour’s paint
peeling — rolling
horse and rider — pen and writer
bruised by each creative throw.
The sideshow palls
becomes a dull routine — a third rate act
an aging cowboy opera now
the fresh air passion’s gone.