"Don't tell me the poets ... "

I write poetry that is both incorporated
And incorporeal ... and un and un and un
It is done

On the pad : and off

Hop - Lily

On the tailgate
In the truck
Boots on the ground
In the muck

Put on your Carhartt's
It's time to get *****
Even better

Grab your Old Man's work clothes
Finish the job
That He didn't want to start

Don't tell me the poets are ******* crying

We're living
And we're dying

Careful though
The warlords have come into the jungle and slaughtered before

But we live again
A little more angry
A little less wise

--> **** **** up, juveniles

Shoplifters of the world ...
untie

Tiny buds push up
Popping their heads out to ask,
"May we come to play?"

Louisiana
Distinction between seasons
Almost unnoticed

Perfection now, but
mosquitoes will swarm us soon.
Spring is oh too short

The world is melting
Shuddering off her top coat
To display her skin

Spring-so colorful
But you want to know the truth?
Winter's more my style.