Golden
Eagles soar
above, communing
with the Colony's Placer
Claim spirits below, their
rattling voices "you can check
out anytime," psychic message,

The
Sundance
Wives changed
silver locks on all
the doors, evicted all
but the whores,"but you
can never leave," ivory piano
keys still, mercury polished coins
in the till, sawdust and linseed oil,
Quaker brooms sweep corrupt soil
from the floor,

saloon,
upstairs
hotel and
brothel now
The Sundance
Wives property,
what's under it will
stay buried, miners,
picks, burros and gold,
let the spirits tell the stories,
let their deaths unfold,

Sage
rode out,
queried the
old Mormon
farmer about
when the best
time to plant, his
wood stacked in good
religious measure, the
community cord sturdy
against the manger. "It's
time says the Lord, when
the soil turns over shiny on
the iron plow's moldboard," in
barter, Sage gave him beeswax
candles for the answer, it came
to her; in a wall mural in 1895
Cripple Creek, of what it would
take to cleanse the mistake,

Madam Antonella
on the stagecoach to
Tombstone to the red light
zone, petticoats and citronella
in her baggage, gambling dice pair
tucked up high in her cleavage, red
ribbon tied in her pretty blond hair,

Blaze called
for the witcher,
forked stick seer
dowsed for the "vein"
where the placer claim
spirits caroused, bible in
the left behind series, God's
impostor, orphan train, those
farmers have children to foster,

copper-tined
witcher stick
pulled down
hard in the seer's
hand, the bright light
piercing The Sundance
Wives at Pussy level, a
mosaic of the phoenix rising
in their vagina, looking up,
Blaze knew the danger, seer
standing under the room where
preacher fucked the whore, the
one with soot on his face and
his accomplice, the marked English
teacher a bituminous disgrace, wild
boar divining in the coal bucket with
a Rosicrucian gold symbol riveted on,
 
outlaw preacher
on the crooked trail
out of town escorted
by the law ranger looked
back and saw the light,
the phoenix rising in their
vagina, erupting in flames,
praying his jurists didn't see
it, the stagecoach driver pulled
back on the reins, tightening the
hames,

the
brassy
appearance
of the archer,
the phoenix rising
in their vagina, Sage
and A.J. consummed
by desire that wouldn't
wait, in the consciousness
of the Joshua tree, a tree
of transformation, in the face
of passion testified to not all
is elusive, and that fulfillment
is less than anticipation, their
search for understanding would
not be impeded,

Blaze and
Pony Girl doused
the preacher and the
whore's room with wormwood
and sealed it off. They boarded
the door, nailing the cloven hoof of
the wild boar, Lucifer's animal rid of
his chore.

Copyright 10/25/2009 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist