Singing pain, long forgotten,

Recurring with novel ardour,

Reminding him of guncotton,

A past ensuing surname Carder.


A gunslinger pacing the desert,

His footsteps imprinted in sand,

Creating a proof so overt,

It would be better known as a brand.


The leech grows quick,

A slinking displeasure,

Cursing the brick,

But beyond all measure.

It runs faster than time,

Lighter than lily, darker than thyme.

It moves slender and slow,

A liquid assumption, a luminous glow.


He takes purposeful strides,

Carder reaches for his gun,

The man stops and provides,

Carder’s deal is done.


The leech is his keeper,

There is nowhere to hide,

It will keep reaching deeper, 

Until he has died.


He rests now aside,

The gun but a token of youth,

He has promised to abide,

Where now is the broken truth?


It hungers, it boils,

It will not cease,

Until he is buried in soils,

An inexpensive lease.


Carder is gone,

His master a guard,

And with him along,

Is his sole trump card.

The End

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