Ethan and Jaime sat at the bar, sipping whiskey as the bartender poured for another patron. The wooden floor creaked as newcomers came in, their stirrups clinking as they walked.

Ethan sipped his drink. It was harsh but the warmth went through him and his head was feeling a little lighter. “You think we’re clear?” He looked down at the colt revolver on his girlfriend’s hip.

“I don’t think we’re ever gonna be clear again,” she said in her breathy voice. It always turned Ethan on a little. Especially when she was angry. “What with the law after us, as well as Harry and the rest of the gang.”

“What about once we’re over the border?” Though they were speaking quietly, there weren’t many other patrons in the bar. Ethan was worried their voices might carry.

“You heard what happened to Butch and Sundance, right?” Jaime asked.

“Who didn’t?” Ethan took a bigger swig from his whiskey. “It was in all the papers.”

“Honey, we’re gonna be watchin’ our backs for the rest of our lives.” Ethan loved the way her long black hair looked beneath her beige cowboy hat in the dim light of the saloon. He loved her brown eyes and the freckles on her face. She was cute but dangerous. Everything Ethan loved. Wrapped up in one perfect woman.

“I’ll watch your backside any time, babes.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “You’re an asshole.”

“So what’d we do it for then?” Ethan asked as he looked into his mostly full glass.

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean I thought the plan was leave Harry and the rest, run to the border, and we’re finally free.” He took two big swigs from his whiskey. “If we’re not free, then what’s the point?”

She shrugged and took a drink. “Nothing better to do I guess. We can survive another day. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Ethan repeated. He chugged the rest of his drink and put down some coins for another.

Jaime was an Indian. From the Dakota Territory, a Souix. Her parents had been murdered in front of her when she was a kid, and she was picked up by some soldiers and taken South. She performed in Wild West shows and was raped repeatedly, and ended up turning to working in brothels. One day she’d decided she’d had enough and turned to robbing banks. That’s when Harry found her and brought her into the gang. Ethan saw her and the rest was history. Jaime was the fastest draw Ethan had ever seen. Plus she was strong as anyone and smart, and of course beautiful. She was twenty now, but old and hardened beyond her years.

The saloon doors swung open and in walked a tall man dressed in all black with an eyepatch and a short, stout fellow with a brown vest and hat. The tall man’s hat was black with a band of silver skulls and he had two shiny silver Smith and Wesson revolvers on his hips. As his one mean eye scoured the barroom, Ethan tried to think of what to say to his brother, Harry Delahay, the leader of the Deep Gorge Gang.

Harry and his lackey, Baldface Joe approached Ethan and Jaime and Ethan wasn’t sure who drew first but he drew both of his guns, pointing one at Harry’s head and one at Joe’s head. When all was said and done, Harry had one gun pointed at Ethan’s face and one at Jaime’s, Jaime’s gun was pointed at Joe, and Joe’s gun was pointed at Jaime. Everyone else in the barroom cleared out quickly except the bartender Fred, who was ducking behind the bar.

Joe laughed. “We’ll lookie here! We got ourselves a Canadian sit down.”

“Mexican standoff, dumbass,” Jaime muttered.

“Nobody’s asking’ you, Indjun,” Joe blurted. He’d always been a rebel bigot. Ethan had always hated that about him.

Harry smiled, looking at Ethan with his mean eye. “There’s no reason for things to get bloody here, folks. We’re all family here, right? Let’s all put our guns down and talk this out.”

“Not a chance,” Ethan said. “We put our guns down and you’ll kill us.”

Harry grinned. “We’re brothers.”

“That’s why I know you so well,” Ethan said.

“I been lookin’ after you our whole lives,” Harry said. “You think I’d kill ya now?”

“You’d kill her,” Ethan said, nodding to Jaime. “And I can’t let you do that.”

Harry was right. Their family was from Kentucky. They were bourbon distillers. They’d grown up together in the Appalachians. When they were old enough, Harry joined Morgan’s Raiders in the Confederate Army and Ethan soon followed. They weren’t much for the cause, but they loved blowing up union railroad bridges and stealing supplies. On many occasions, Harry saved Ethan’s life. His older brother had always looked out for him. It was an easy transition to go from raiders to bank robbers. After spending some time in a union prison, of course.

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this,” Harry said. “After everything I’ve done for you.”

Ethan looked down the barrel of his gun as he aimed at Harry and Joe. He glanced at Jaime out of the corner of his eye. She was steady as ever. They were all experienced gunmen. Nobody would be making a mistake. It was all about looking for that opening.

“Everything you’ve done for him?” Jaime asked Harry. “How bout you? After everything you’ve been through together you wouldn’t let him leave the gang. How bout that?”

Harry chuckled as he continued aiming his pistols. “And he’d leave us for a two timing slutty cunt like you. I can’t be lettin you all leave and go blabbin the location of our hideout to the sheriff once you get picked up.”

“We ain’t gonna get picked up,” Jaime said.

“Ain’t you heard what happened to Butch and Sundance?” Joe asked.

“That was in South America, you idiot,” Jaime said.

“Ain’t that where you’re goin?” Joe asked.

“No,” Jaime said. “We’re goin to Mexico.”

“Same difference,” Joe said.

“Why don’t you just put your guns down and let us go?” Ethan asked. “How’s this worth killin or gettin killed over? Just let us go.”

“I already said we can’t do that,” Harry said. “But Ethan, you can leave this whore and just come back with us. It’ll be like old times.”

Ethan smiled and shook his head. “You know that ain’t happenin. And call her a whore again, I’ll shoot you out of principle. I don’t care what else happens.”

Joe, who was pointing his gun at Jaime’s head smiled. “We’ll I’d blow her pretty brains out for one.”

“I just call em like I sees em.” Harry said. “She’s a fuckin whore. And go ahead and shoot me. You’d be doin me a favor.” Harry was crazy and suicidal. He always had a death wish. That’s what made him such a great outlaw. And that’s what made him so scary and dangerous.

Ethan looked from gun to gun, going through all the scenarios. If he shot Harry and Joe, he had a slight chance of getting them both. But the more likely scenario was he’d kill one and the other would kill Jaime, leaving him alone to take out whoever was left. But if Jaime was dead, this would all be for nothing. He pictured her pretty head exploding in a red spray and shook off the thought.

“Well somebody’s gotta do somethin,” Jaime said. “We can’t just stand here pointin our guns at each other indefinitely. Somebody’s gonna have to pee eventually.”

“Shut up, cunt,” Joe said.

Jaime started making pissing sounds. “Pss. Pss.”

“I said shut up,” Joe said.

Jaime chuckled. “Baldface Joe. You do have to piss, don’t you? Go ahead. Piss yourself like the coward you are.”

Joe gritted his teeth. “I’m about to kill you, hooker.”

“You do, I’ll splatter your brains on the wall,” Ethan said.

Jaime laughed. “Ain’t much there. Wouldn’t be too much cleanup involved.”

“Oh fuck you,” Joe said. “You always thought you was so smart. But tell me this. If you’re so smart, how’d you end up here with two guns pointed at your head?” She was staring down Harry’s and Joe’s barrels.

“We’ll you’re right about one thing, Jaime,” Harry said. “This ain’t gettin us nowhere. Somebody’s gonna have to do somethin.”

Ethan knew his best chance was to fire both guns, killing Harry and Joe simultaneously. But he had to be perfect. If he missed, or hit one and not the other, or if he wasn’t quite fast enough, Jaime was dead and this was all for nothing. Maybe he could shout “Duck!” and Jaime would duck, then he could shoot Harry and Joe. But what if she didn’t duck? They’d likely both end up dead.

Harry smiled at him. “Come on little brother. Drop this bitch.”

Ethan considered it for a split second. That would definitely be his best chance of getting out of this alive. But who’s to say Harry wouldn’t kill him later? How could Harry ever trust him after this? And either way, Ethan loved Jaime. There was no way he could leave her. There was no way he could let her die like that. If he had to choose between Jaime and his brother, he’d choose her every time.

The saloon doors flapped open and in walked the sheriff and his deputy. Both immediately drew their revolvers. Everyone was distracted and Ethan fired both pistols. Harry’s and Joe’s heads jerked back and blood and brains flew everywhere.

The sheriff and the deputy fired. Jaime fell and several glasses shattered. On her way down, Jaime shot the sheriff in the head. Ethan fired his pistol at the deputy, hitting him in the chest. The deputy dropped his gun and took a few steps back. Ethan fired twice, hitting him in the face each time and sending the deputy sprawling into the floor.

Ethan rushed to Jaime, who was picking herself up from the floor. “You okay?” Ethan asked. “You hit?”

She shook her head. “Sheriff hit the stool next to me and it hit me and I lost my balance.”

“Thank God.” Ethan said.

Jaime smiled. “Since when did you believe in God?”

Ethan smiled back. “Since one of his angels fell down from Heaven and agreed to flee to Mexico with me.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You cheesy asshole. Really, go fuck yourself with that ridiculous line.”

“I’d rather be fuckin you,” he said.

The two of them stood. Fred the bartender also stood. “Am I okay?”

Jaime grinned. “Yeah, you’re okay.” She tossed him some coins. “Pour yourself a drink.”

He nodded and poured some whiskey in a glass and chugged it.

“Well let’s git outta here,” Ethan said. He looked down at his dead brother and frowned. It was a shame it had to end this way. “And let’s not stop in any more saloons til we’re in Mexico.”

“Agreed,” Jaime said as she put her arm around him and they walked towards the swinging doors.

Every day my heart gets torn from my chest

and I feel the empty pain

that goes with lacking feeling, lacking love,

lacking that person

who understands me through and through,

knows the ins and outs

of my pain and suffering, hopes and sorrows,

that one person

who brings out my best self, and I bring out hers,

but this life

is moving clouds and lightning in the skies,

and I don’t know

what I did to incur this punishment,

the destruction

of my heart and in turn, my mind,

so I lay here

on this cliff side, pondering fate,

and if

one more onlooker says there are other fish,

and if

one more onlooker says I’ll find someone,

I swear

I’ll switch places, and let their heart

be the one

that’s torn out over and over,

see if

their mouths are still full of platitudes,

meaningless

blabbering with no basis in reality.

I think the blues

are here to stay this time.

They’ve taken up residence,

unpacked their bags,

kicked out any thoughts of love,

future dreams, hope,

replaced them with their clutter,

the unmade bed of loneliness,

the broken couch of sorrow,

the shattered windows

of dread and regret.

So I may as well kick up my feet

and smoke some weed with them,

light up a cigar

and burn it to a nub,

pull my covers over my head

and sleep

sleep

sleep.

I have lots of favorites but if I had to pick just one it would be Allen Ginsberg. Here goes…

oh feminine beauty

oh curves and muscle

breasts and perked nipples

curve of ass

lick of soft hair

eyes with long lashes

sutra vagina

light of sun and day

clitoris the window to ecstasy

you are the only true poetry

the only true song

the only music

you are the infinite

the enlightenment

the blip in the mind of Buddha

the only true bodhisattva

you are dreams and consciousness

you are life and death

you are the reason, the meaning

the only truth

you are that which turns the world

When loneliness and pain set in

like daggers slicing weakened skin,

frustration fills the hours

with anger dark and sour,

and shadows fill the empty room,

no lover there to ease the gloom,

to fill the lonely nights

with sex’s sweet delights,

and sadness and depression reign

and drive the lonely souls insane,

what can a person do

to ease these sunken blues?

Is there nothing that can aid,

to calm desires, block the blade

of suffering and doubt

when one must go without?

I know a site with movies free,

a male and female fucking spree,

where one can simply find

a host of bare behinds,

and tits and pussies, cocks and abs,

where slapping asses fill the tabs

and gangbangs fill the screen,

or any other scenes.

Any fetish for your pleasure,

live your dreams, beyond measure;

you can see it all,

a dirty curtain call.

There’s no disease or pregnancy

to catch from this pornography;

no sleazy filthy grime

from pleasures seen online.

So let’s immortalize this smut,

these well hung actors, savage sluts,

and females with big boobs,

the sex toys and the lubes

these women need to fit these dicks

of robust sizes in their slits,

and we can watch and learn,

’til one day it’s our turn

to join the nightly laid once more,

with nubile partners at our doors,

but until that time,

may your porn be sublime.

May all your lonely nights be filled

with images of Jacks and Jills

going all night long,

a hard orgasmic song.

And the sky opens to space,

to a star shining white love light,

and we look up and open ourselves

like dancers on a rift

between dreams and reality,

artists who’ve discovered

the center of being, the core of existence,

the mind of shared human consciousness,

white and yellow and red and pink,

that which makes us alive,

that which allows us to share, to love,

that which gives us awareness,

consciousness,

and tells us everything will be okay,

and it will always be there

and it will hold us in its warmth,

its splendor, its light,

and we are perfect, burning bright.

We are stars, we are suns.

We are alive.

This poetry is rock and roll.

This poetry is screaming until your ears bleed dry.

It’s sex and explosions and fire raining down from a blood-drenched sky.

It’ll infiltrate your ears, your mind, your soul.

It’ll split skulls, drench with tears, light your bowls.

It’ll make you fall in love, get you laid, get you paid.

It’ll shake you in your boots and rain down razor blades.

It’ll pile on the pain, the heartbreak, the shadows in the gloaming.

It’ll send your body rocking, your tired soul roaming.

It’s highways and train tracks and rockets to the sky.

It’ll set your soul ablaze and get you drunk and high.

It’ll paint a picture of me standing on a stage.

Full of glowing energy, anger and rage.

It’ll twist its way through alleys and oily streets.

It’ll melt steel with white hot heat.

It’ll snow and rain and storm and strike

with lightning and thunder and unearthly might.

It’ll whisper words in your waiting ears

that will bring you to orgasm, bring you to tears.

It’ll rock you like crazy all through the night

until your windows let in lazy morning light.

This poetry is rock and roll

full of danger, fire, dark and light.

This poetry won’t back down.

It will always scratch and claw and fight.

Until it becomes calm seas, rainbows, and doves.

Until the doors open

to warmth and light and love.

When you’re in the jungle,

chopping with a machete

at the brush and vines,

surrounded by a green and brown mess,

and you can barely see

your nose in front of your face,

let alone an opening, a clearing

where there might even be someone

waiting for you,

someone who chopped through

their own jungle to get there,

someone waiting

to chop together,

you just keep chopping and chopping,

not sure if that clearing is a day away,

weeks, months, years,

or if you’ll drop dead alone

chopping this mess,

left for the ants to feast on.

Act now, my friend, and live without regret,

or waste your days in caution’s safety net,

floundering with your mind fixed on dead dreams

of questions fretting on what might have been.

Your days are troubled with monotony,

but when your tired mind is strong and free,

your days become bright jewels of vivid light,

that shatter paranoia’s murky night.

So break down every block that seals you in

a tired life of worry, cold and dim,

and fill your mind with strength to break down walls

that trap you in fear’s endless, lonely halls,

or hide behind your walls and fill your days

with dust, regret, and memory’s decay

Lost love,

cracked shell,

dead dove.

Piled dust,

cold hell,

lost love.

Spilled blood,

rank smell,

dead dove.

Push-shove,

flew fell,

lost love,

dead dove.