Gunsmoke and Candlefire

She drifts on smoke laced with ashes over asphalt whose veins throb with pitch through the shards of her ribcage riding dustrag clouds drifting dumb and sullen over a formaldehyde river, vendetta aftertaste thick and metallic.
It was there among the barbed wire and asphodel where everything splinters with dismembered chair limbs or rusts and cakes with verdigris alongside coffee cans and bent spoons among weeds bursting through cracks in the concrete; there at the windowsill splattered with wax;
It was there at the bitch's trailer windowsill with candlefire curling into wisps of evidence where the tramp brandished her Colt .45 as he screamed from the bedroom still hoisting up his pants in the smutty afterhaze as she in her neon polyester bra and jangling Mother Mary charms pulled back the trigger lock reload click doubleclick-- ashes.
When her fingers reach now to grasp that neck wind the gold-plated chains around it until the skin is tattooed with chain marks and a Mother Mary Print her fingers clasp at tramp neck nails dig into the jugular— pass straight through.
She retreats again to her headstone with rapture erupting behind her.