Black heart

Black heart


In 1994, old soldier was trying to drink himself to death. He had given everything he owned away and left everyone he loved. Behind.


He loved the crimson light, the dancehalls and the Texas nights. He became the dark poet who loved the jazz and the Devil women. Every Friday night, he sat alone in Belton, Texas. Not seeking to be saved, not seeking peace, he accepted the chaos of living.


Pretty Texas girl asked him. Is life, gin, sin and shit? He smiled and told her. Us greedy people, we kill the things we love and we do not die. Pretty Cindy, life is gin, sin and bullshit. We laughed, we loved and we danced. Once I knew the white light and now I know the darkness.


A dark eyes beauty sat with him on a Saturday night in Austin, Texas. She was a Mexican woman with long black hair and wearing a colorful dress of multi-colored. She requested a dance. He offered her a drink and he saw soulful eyes looking into his eyes. She whispered, no thank you Coyote.


He took her to the dance floor and she held him closely and she whispered. Black hearten man, dead men don’t cry no-more in hell. Hell is filled-up with crying and foolish men. You must taste dirt to appreciate the taste of sweetness. I am a caretaker, a final warning and your second warning. If you seek death, death shall find you. Remember dead men, do not rise again. Each of us have wars in our minds to fight. Karma can be a bitch, must be repaid in three-fold and if you love the darkness, the darkness can overtake you. Please Coyote, time to leave the taverns, it is time to forgive the sin of yesterday. All we can do is our best. Maybe you haven’t found your proper place yet? The song ended and she kissed his face-cheeks and lips. She whispered, all of us have angels and demons singing sweet songs to us. Please seek life, not death.


He watched her walk away and he followed her outside to the August Texas heat. He saw a empty parking lot and he looked at the moon. He whispered. Where are you my kind muse? My mercy.


Dancing Coyote