traveling with copyright 
as her companion, she
straightened her burgandy
velvet sleeve garters, adjusted
the tightness of the snaps on her
Cordovan star-studded leather wrist
cuffs, and secured the Western firebrand
manuscripts that would make her famous,
inside her Old West tooled pommel satchel,
anticipating the stagecoach's stop,

noon stage exact on
time, the horses ready
for some sweet molasses
oats and water, the driver brought
the stage to a halt, dismounted and
opened the stagecoach door, she climbed
out, her boots hitting the dirt of the town that
had no name, she smoothed the wrinkles in her
wheat frontier trousers, the townsfolk caught sight
of her fame packed voluptuously in her lavender
Western fringed blouse filled out like the lead type
in compartments of a tray,

she walked across the
dusty street to the printer,
the woman proprietor flaunting
the history of women's persecuted
quill about to scorch this town that had
no name, kissed her full on the lips in plain
view of the townspeople, the firebrand handed
over her pommel satchel, the manuscripts hot and
and sexy, "are these what you have been waiting for?"

of what would soon
be this century's distribution
of the lesbian dialect, the printing
press met a standard spelling system,
her press carried here in 1856 by way
of the Oregon Trail to the town that had
no name, in her ink-smudged apron, the
woman's nimble fingers plucked the lead
type from compartments in a tray, reading
the firebrand's stories on the white paper
and set the blazing type spelled backwards
as the words had to be a mirror image of  the
firebrand's uncensored words printed on paper,
passed an ink roller over the type, and with her
foot power turning the flywheel leaving her hand
free to feed paper to the press, the treadle kept the
rollers in motion,

binding and stitching in
the daylight hours, back of
the shop f***ing in the evening,
with ten books between them stamped
with proper copyright, two women writing
in Old West lesbian context, acknowledge their
lesbianism and promote their press in a dramatic
increase of curious sales with the acceptance given
to romantic friendships between women who are telling
their stories and printing their books,

and so the town
that had no name was
named Sweetwater, and
the stagecoach driver who
thought he got away with the
firebrand's manuscripts stole the
identical impostor Old West tooled
pommel satchel with blank sheets of paper
as thick as disguised manuscripts, the top sheet
written on, a planted sizzling page turner with the
firebrand's byline about Calamity Jane who admitted
she was a lesbian and that her affair with Wild Bill
Hickok was a cover up because he was also gay...


Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist
thgirypoC 6581 egaS retawteewS, dnarberif naibsel
tsilevon