full range regret

warming back up to quick thoughts
like a mesquite cowboy
with well worn leather chaps
covering dungarees
before they were jeans
holding nothing but a stick
to stoke the embers bright
for the pot of beans
that will never reach tasteful
and only be consumed
out of need to ride the night
into dawns filled with sage
like dresses so dirty
they should not be worn
by the girls in the towns
so far away
from the burning black cauldron
of quick thought beans
and how they might taste