I am the Lonesome Cowboy. If you know my name you do not speak it. If you speak my name you do not know me. If you see me I am not there. If you miss me, you miss another. It is not me. I do not care.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, quite content to be no one, to be needed nowhere, and to be again completely free of any schedule.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, pulling cactus prickles from my shin, humming a dour tune, mouthing a sad refrain. Humble before the sky, wet and chill in each rain, I hobble along, always alone, ignoring all pain.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting, breathing in the chill night air, waiting, for dawn. It must surely come some day.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Call me Jed. Or Ned, or Ted, or Fred. No matter, I answer to all, to one as well as another, it seems, and am unsure, even to this date, what my true name may be, if even there was such a thing, and if so, I truly know it not, so then, Jed will do fine for now. Or Ed, or Ned.
I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I have wandered the borders of many a town but have rarely gone in to any. My friends are the stars, the wind, the dust, and tumbleweeds, also known as Russian thistles, an invasive species, not unlike me, perhaps.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@gmail.com
Me? Well, not saying more for now, until I identify that suspicious smell.
