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My children are my legacy
But they are grown
And don’t need me
So now I write my poetry
I remember the room
where we first met
I remember the room
hard to forget
I remember the room
your smile matched mine
I remember the room
perfectly in line
I remember the room
the feeling of fine
I remember the room
your heart leaving mine
I remember the room
the sharp decline
I remember the room
slow
sad
somehow
sublime .
like icicles on my nose. Hanging
jagged with pointed tip, so sharp
they cut my lower lip.  They rusted
from sitting outside in a paper

cup. I held them up
to the sun. It's years since
they've run like a river
down my face. They baked

in place like the cheese
souffle. Hardened like a ball of
clay. Then cracked into lines
I pen. My ink is wet. Better it than them.
She led me by the hands
saying she would never leave me.

I was happy
for once believing
and loved her more.

The little I had in the purse
was hers
saved nothing willingly
sure as I was
one day
her love would save me.

When I fed enough winds
to her wings
she flew away to a pasture
better and greener.

She led me by the hands
and for once I believed
she wasn't Miss Leading.
From years in the making
to
I don't know what I'm doing

all in the blink of an eye.
H
When all the stars are in their proper place
And the dead ones have given up their space
When equality and equity are one and the same
And goodness is sought for in place of fame
When we are able to redact our every mistake
And truly learn lessons from every heartbreak
It will be the day when the immortals die
And their souls rise up to embrace the sky
 Mar 13 My Dear Poet
Man
I like hair enough to whip it,
To have the wind pull it
And muss about my face.
It's reminiscent of living,
Makes me feel grounded.
Enough hair on my chin
That I can stroke it when I think,
Weather it with whiskey
And plenty of smoke.
I'd like to say it's for joy,
But lately it's for the nerves.
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