We’d hid ourselves in the sagebrush. They covered the plain like silver hills. They covered our black-garbed bodies. Jesse James, and Frank James, and me myself. We were watching the road, and we’d been watching the road for some hours four. We were waiting for the Man we meant to rob.
Tag Archives: J Christian Lawrence
The Time Travelling Poet
I think the author a rather heart-broken Time Traveler, who intentionally scatters his/her verses among the timeline, as Orlando upon the Arden trees, with an object of wooing not a rosy Paramour, but rather, that rarest of all things, an Audience.
Limbo Philosophers
We moved up through the ward of the castle and into the keep. There was a fine and shady garden in its midst. Where men and women were arranged about, lounging on the green, with faces somber and voices quiet – sad and longing in soft cold light.
The Phantom Train of Marshall Pass
An Amerikan Ghost Story – All Amerika is a haunted ground. Said that Miner man that sat alone in the corner of the open-air car. Why did he sit out there in the cold of the October night? His breath, steaming in lantern light, showed me he was there, told me he was talking. IContinue reading “The Phantom Train of Marshall Pass”
The Necessity of Journey
The people were everywhere slumped on the ground. I could bear it no longer. I stooped and asked one of the men – who was very plain and dull – what he’d done. He only sighed. I asked another, a woman – also unremarkable – and again I heard no word.
A Haltless Mind
I received a letter in the mail today from a Mr. William S. It seems he had heard of the predicament of Life I’d found myself in, and so sent me a Sonnet as consolation. Poetry often serves to calm what is a troubled soul of mine.
Darius the Great
An Essay on Forgiveness I realized one day that it was very difficult for me to remain angry at anyone. Concerned by this, I immediately examined the cause of my agreeability, and arrived at several theories: My memory is very poor, or my nature is very amenable, or conflict I disdain. Therefore a wrong IContinue reading “Darius the Great”
Mon Cafe with Andre
The film got no money and could only play in the cheapest of theatres and I was in one to watch it with the frayed screen the unclean projector the dim light the burnt popcorn the stained carpet the gummy torn seats sticky with spat plugs of tobacco and the clung dirt and lung-matter of cigarettes.
At the Tombs of Heretics
We found a man had hauled himself, by his fingertips, to the lip of one of these flaming crowded cluttered graves. He hanged there as over a precipice and peered up at Mr. Dante and I. I thought then I knew him.
Watching Auroras with Wallace Stevens
We turn in the fest of a tumult… playing in stage, strutting in plays. We frett for curtain falls, we fawn for sleepy applause. Said I. All is brief.
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