Introduction:
In my mind, there’s only one comparison to Cowboy Blue Crawford: Roland of Gilead from The Dark Tower series. They both share a wayward quest shot full with grey morals and mythical characters. The difference: Blue’s journey is told with unflinching restraint through hard-boiled poetry and finesse. Each stanza demands multiple readings, not for clarity’s sake, but to relish from separate angles — like adjusting museum lights on a painting.
Except Clifford is still creating this masterpiece in real-time — a luxurious mural along a long blank wall. He has the vision and poetic prowess to finish strong. We get to watch, and by the end, I expect we’ll step back and appreciate the interwoven intricacies Clifford worked in since the beginning.
“Purgatory is the only oasis in the afterlife that makes any sense.” So Blue’s journey continues through the afterlife — and we with him.
-Zach Riggs
http://wzachriggs.com/
IG: @zachriggs
…
Tennessee’s Chief Craighead speaks underground with Cherokee who once met there. White men slaughter their prophets. The veil thins between us and them.
In a cave, the Owl, an oracle tucked back deep, hears the dead plot their return. She holds them there, her magic powerful, their courage turned in any direction she bids. Her home is woven in iron, high in the slow, stone-made rafters. She swivels her broad head around and puts two golden eyes on the door.
Orpheus lost his lady attempting to escape a cave. Blue Crawford walks into his with questions, and intimate knowledge of the exits.
Lily waits in the car, poorly.
The Cherokee and Chief Craighead acknowledge the cowboy’s presence. Blue barely nods, and strides into the darkness without a light.
…
The Owl, an oracle
who destroyed
the whore of Delphi,
expects tonight
to guide the cowboy Blue Crawford.
The Owl consumes those
who can’t be caught.
Her truth is earned.
It cannot be bought.
A craggy palace among stalactites,
her nest is nestled in endless night.
Black roses grow around
its edge.
From a nearby ledge
Blue Crawford says,
“Oracle, this promise between us
is fucked!
The amulet you sent me to steal
doesn’t still my misery.”
Owl steps out and tsks
the cowboy’s complaint.
“The promise is good.
On earth everyone dies,
except you and your crew.”
The Old Faith always has the damn answers
that Rice tries to hide.
Blue hears the Cherokee
creeping up the cavern walls.
The Oracle says,
“We are from
the same sand, Blue.
Until Rapture
we are both
grave spirits.
Never think,
even on your soul’s mortal brink,
that the amulet
is heaven sent. It’s meant for a man
of destruction.”
“Tell me how to find Rice, you witch!”
Blues disrespect
is unwisely spent on the Owl.
…
She blinks and the Cherokee attack,
teeth-chattering cold,
fists bash against
Blue’s iron chest. Lashed by brutal attacks
from a tumultuous life.
Chief Craighead
hurls himself at Blue.
Blue’s shaman instincts
should’ve slid back in,
but they didn’t.
He couldn’t fight back.
This disability long-designed
by too many shot glasses
strewn between too few good days.
Guilt impeded his attack.
Blue Crawford cannot
fend for himself
when the soldiers are formed
by a deity.
…
The Owl crunches out,
claws around her stony perch.
Looking after- at- him
being beaten
she notes
no begging from his never-
pleading lips.
Vengeful spirits howl and hack
into Blue,
but he does not die.
The Cherokee and Blue,
they share jagged wounds
death won’t allow to heal.
“Stop!”
Wings turn feathers to flesh,
and the Oracle, the Owl
stands half woman
half fowl. She, endowed with claws
and cruel truth.
A chin up to Chief Craighead,
he and his are led
away by her dismissal.
Fingers laced, gold eyes on Blue,
“Your demons seem stronger than you,
Blue. That won’t do.
Rice is planted in Alabama.
Montgomery, Alabama.”
