West

The whole forbidden word is West.

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The world idles with its costumes and allusions to you,

You wait to be overrun by them. 

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The day cannot come when you are not perfect. 

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You are a recluse. 

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Allure and opposition. 

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When selfish feet march its plains, its hills, mountains, 

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It unapologizes
then it ends.
There is so little left. Sin it away. 

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Usurped so the mountain could scorn at us below. 

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For the smell of gunpowder in the air, 

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For the guilty blood between Ironhorse’s floorboards. 

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Take it if you will. 

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Something is in your way.