Dakota Slim

Dakota Slim

This is a poem I wrote in 2007 about one of my artistic brother-in-arms and then roommate Dakota Slim (Travis Keats Ross). He is a fantastic musician and is always releasing new albums that you should listen to. Check him out here: http://www.facebook.com/pages/DAKOTA-SLIM/179031043203

Slimmer than a ten-to-one shot
at the tracks on a stray gray
named “Wounded Knee”
when you’ve been drinking since breakfast
and your brokeback bookie assures you
with a comforting twitch
and a revealing itch
that you’re a sure shot.

A real modern-day Doc Holiday
straight outta the movies (the good ones at least):
refined, learned, brilliantly brash,
drunker than a moonshined mountain goat.
“No sir, I’m in my prime.”

The Neil Young to my Bob Dylan,
the Neil Cassidy to his Jack Kerouac:
neo-folk surrealists and post-punk neo-romantics
out to raise a little hell,
or at least yank the rug out from under the angels’ feet.

We shoulda been gunslingers or private eyes or paranormal investigators.
But I guess there are worse things to be.
“You’re not an artist, you filthy thieving liar.”

To the oldest souls who ever died young.

Sorry, Travis.

One response »

  1. Pingback: No Nostalgia Sundays (Time Travel Edition): Oakland Fucking Proper | Letters To Dionysus

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s