I was abandon, famine ran rampant while i was stranded on this planet.
And if I’m being candid, my life has been so bland when, I think about the future it brings me so much shame. How am I supposed to escape from a past so traumatic with pain?
You don’t understand it, a bandit eating sand and granite, eyes were slanted while I was painting on this canvas.
We’re from a city where dreams were never granted i’m in panic from these circumstances, because when i really think about it there were never any chances.

Still here,
beating.

I stand over the girl from my past.

My shadow is a mass, but I am Liberty,
in her stance,
in her strength,
in the sunlight.

Twice struck,
second one has stuck
in deep,
enough to blur the world around me-
around him.

Never mind the darker hours
 (they aren’t important);
what is crucial, is the breath in my lungs.

Heres to twenty one
Not yet a quarter
Two dimes and a penny.
Last night I cried two times over some henny.
It's okay though I just started but I guess I'll start over.

Heres to twenty one.
To a life well lived, sober, and full of experiences.
Learning to let go of the past.
Forgetting the should haves & shouldnots like the clerance shirts you just bought because its back to school season.
To not be like the California summer. Clingy to the golden age holding on to late mother September.
To be open to the fall.
To be strong when I fall.
To love the winter and walk over frozen lakes  once drowned in.
To love where I have been and seek where I haven't.
Embrace the seasonal life.
Here you wear satin and feel beautiful. Rich in passion.
Never ashamed for the life that happened or is happening.

Heres to twenty one.
Not yet a quarter
Two dimes and a penny.
Twenty one is just happiness and some change.

for the ladies who liquid lunch

<>

the finest young women of the wild west,
(the best of course just might be in Texas)
don’t always get educated in the things best,
no private schools, so somethings sometimes,
like the upscale training of the taste buds,
must be learned on the job, training the palate,
by growing up, self+taught, thank god, yes!

<>

your salty taste
reminds me of ruffled potato chips, bugles, beef jerky
and
your very own brand of
loving tears

it’s true you know,
impossible to eat
just one, which is
why my tonguing
of your body parts,
is unceasingly seizing

I will always be found
attached unbreakably,
to your moving image,
moving inside of me

so sweet your salt,
it’s your story,
your flavored lives living on
in poems unnamed, to disguise
but the authorship of whom,
in body, in mind, so obvious,
cause in all your poems is a tangy
salty

impossible to eat just one

****
<>
p.s. you tease me mean,
cowman,

bbq and béarnaise,
sassafras and edible petals,
molasses and kosher salt,
ingredient combination
which of course
you just made up,
so I show my appreciation
biting your arm so my permanent
teeth marks,
will remind me,
and you too,
just how salty
biting Texas heifers who
can or cannot be salt cured
when
it’s their turn to write some
real good tasting
poetry

****

back for more already?

****