This week in poetry from Netflix is "I shot Jesse James" by the coward Robert Ford

I have been busy on account of many things but that is no reason to leave you in the bind such that you find yourself in today. I am well aware that you are alone out there and I have done you wrong by letting you think that you have not a friend in the world. Let me tell you I am your friend and I will do my best in the future to allow you to hear that sweet music from my lips again.

things are cold
and you can be too
but I want to deliver this message
out in the wooded forests
where women bake bread
and kneed their fists in unmade dough.

Too much of our lives
is spent in misplaced passion
forget to remember the truth
that pines away

It slumbers like a
cat
on a restless
Sunday
lazy and incoherent

dumb and deaf
we will walk to the mountain
and I will carry you
that way

because you were my weakest enemy
and my boldest mistake
and sometimes I wonder

But I wont for long
as this too passes
under a smoke filled
porch

as the small sounds of happiness
emanate from your neighbors garden
you will encounter
all the obstacles
he lays before you

and you will ponder
with such inadequacy
that the good lord himself
will take pity on you

but that will be your first mistake
and I will shoot you under the picture frame
and I will watch as the blood seeps out from you
and I will hold my breath like you will
for all eternity