Klute is neither the name of a puppy or a dwarf chimpanzee.
Klute cannot be bent or otherwise altered;
Linguistic, grammatical or by third player.
Klute will always seek to evade lock,
Therefore, you do not find Klute.
It’s best to let Klute find you.
Klute obeys neither our leaders in power,
The media nor the aforementioned third player.
Klute knows only the gold:
Its weight in bags,
Its bump against the thighs in the jacket pockets.
It is this gold and this gold alone,
That spurs our Klute.
The gold will also lead Klute to you.
Klute love the coins.
For them Klute will
Kill, steal, rob, cheat, lie,
For later to
drink, fuck, eat, sleep, shit.
Necessitated and made possible
By the coins.
The true power of the coin is not Klutes concern
Other more useful and applicable objects
Is bumping against his thigh in its holster
Semi-automatic weigh in bag.
Klute has you in the crosshairs of his aim.
Klute draws first and shoots last.
Klute is always the last man standing.
Drunk under the table,
Fucked to an organ-grinder,
Over-eaten and drunk as a horse:
Spent several nights
Sleeping in his own feces,
However, you rose again, Klute.
Resurrected as ambassador behind the teflon plow ruins.
Klute lets his hand with the gun sink.
He has no quarrel with you.
He secures his weapon and puts it back in his belt.
Klute, you stand!
Unyielding, unchanging in the desert wind.
In the dark profile against the sunset.
And as the light disappears, you too must go, Klute-san.
No bogus goodbye, no kiss, no reason, no need.
Hat, coat and revolver,
One moment you are still there,
The next you’re gone.
Without frills you disappear,
in the twilight behind the ancient teflon plows.