Baxter Black
CPC Readings
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
The Art Institute of Chicago
Poetry by Baxter Black
The West
And the wind is the moan of the prairie
That haunts and bedevils the plains
The soul stealin’ kind that can fray a man’s mind
Till only his whimper remains
The Buckskin Mare
He was every burnt out cowboy that I’d seen a million times
With dead man penny eyes, like tarnished brass,
That reflected accusations of his critics and his crimes
And drowned them in the bottom of a glass.