Bukowski is inside-reading;
I leave him at my desk to wait
the dead of winter with whiskey and cigars,
and walk outside onto the cedar deck.
You can’t fence years in with wire
or build stone walls to hold them back.
They move like mavericks, rough hooves
across soft earth.
</>Keys on chains lie lost,
buried near the bottoms of drawers,
keys that served hands
Outlaws in Winter Pass
(For Waylon Jennings)
Outlaws in winter pass the gate;
Ron Wallace is a Native son of Oklahoma and a national poetry award winner. He is the author of four volumes of poetry published by TJMF Publishing of Clarksville, Indiana. All four have received critical acclaim and met with success in the poetry world. His first book, Native Son, was a finalist in the 2007 Oklahoma Book Awards. I Come from Cowbo ...