down in the Frio river
where George Strait first swam
i grabbed ahold of the rope
and swung right into the country
where clear water flirts with the hot sun
and my face is kissed by their entanglement
freckles of life
eyes of a child
simplicity with audacity
laying hind down on the shallow end
as the stream tickles my toes
and the minnows say hello
wishing this were my childhood
but today i grew a little

chipped tooth Jul 13

Your childhood home is up for sale, but no one wants to remember why you left.
Your face is used for tourist advertisements on the billboards next to the others that say,
"Are you going to Heaven or Hell? Call now.”
All the men that loved you, and the women that no one knew
about- are they with you now?
Is the Mercedes Benz
all the luxury that the Neches
never provided?
The only voice that ever
bellowed out from
the belly of that forsaken water,
(from boredom, for freedom)
did not die from an overdose.
She perished when they
condemned her
the moment
she began to sing

chipped tooth Jul 13

Tiny ankles hang down from a wooden bridge over the bayou-
and my friend and I stare at the black water
and point at all the furniture legs jetting out of the blackness
as if they were Cyprus knees—
and he says to me  “Someone said there’s at least a hundred bodies in there”
and without hesitation or a moment of silence
for the uncertain yet forgotten Dead
I say, “Bodies float, so we would see them if that were true”
and he replied,  after a brief moment of thought,
“Maybe they’re tied to all the couches or stuffed in the refrigerators”  
and I couldn’t believe how many house hold appliances
have been repurposed to host all these passed souls
in the bowels of the swamp
and with a swing of my leg, too swift—
my left shoe dropped  and hovered on the water
where lily pads should have been

chipped tooth Jul 13

in the small town land marked by it's single gas station,
teens skateboard through
the Walmart 15 minutes away
smoke cigarettes
in the baseball field of their high school rival
spend Friday nights at waffle house
after football games
the hospital near Walmart
is being closed down
history replaced by
churches and banks
patriotism and school pride
is sewn into the school
a memorial for the boys
who drove drunk and died
it's a community
built on family values,
everyone recounts their
blessings and after years
of collective prayer
He even
bestowed upon that town
a Dollar General

Nateive Son Jul 11

Waking up with an achy spine,
But hard again,
No woman,
Am I past my prime?
I am,
Not old enough yet,
Not even nearly to the age of,
I can think of all the flies born today,
That will be dead by midnight,
And smile.

Please email me your best photos of county fairs:

The email you should send it to is

Winner gets a bottle of mustard from the Nazi occupation of France. VERY RARE!

Cné Jun 22

Shimmering, miasmic waves
of suffocating heat,
bounce off the scorching pavement
and distort the tortured street.

A toxic stew of asphalt sticks
to every tire and shoe,
as tar begins to bubble
'Tis "The Texas summer goo".

Oppressive heat beats downward
from relentless glaring sun.
Be wary of Apollo's malice!
Summer's just begun.

I'm melting, I'm melting.
Devin Domino May 9

Made a home in
The County of Emmet
The smell of another Lucky Strike
As you’re trucking, state lines in the rear view

You made the trip down
Took you over to the field
To watch them circle the bases
Spring of ’01, the last time I’d see you in health

Made your arrangements
Buried you a block away
78 of Nemaha, right over on 6th street,
The paper read

Time of Day mid-afternoon
The smell of a Texas June
I’m sleeping in a car,
The news is crossing state lines, impedes my innocence

I learned about selfishness and mortality
As the youngest of the grandkids
Just trying to find a spot to sleep in your basement
I never heard your stories about the war

I wrote this years ago, and while it's not very good, it means a lot to me. It's hard to write about someone that you love but never really knew.
Nateive Son Apr 15

Pirates in their day,
Were accused of all sorts of debauchery,
Some true,
Others nay,
I read,
"Pirates fer Dummies" once,
And it was enlightening.

But I like seeing it from the pirate's point of view,
So often not explored,
As a quest for the dualistic animal freedom upon,
The rabid seas,
Totally unnatural for these men of two legs,
Sometimes one,
And the subculture that develops as,
Thrown away from the majority culture,
Because of,
Everything gone wrong,
Giving into the darkness,
Driving into the storm.

It makes me shudder,
As I bite into a raw lime.

Awww Anne-y:
Nateive Son Apr 14

I could have been a millionaire,
But I pissed it all away,
Sitting in the woods,
And letting my connections drop,
Into the nothingness that the river washes away.

I could have been a millionaire,
Considering that I grew up around plenty of money,
But oh well,
You study the words and then study yourself,
And it becomes more meaningless with each passing day.

I could have been a millionaire,
And fucked plastic girls with Oxycontin eyes,
Or opened a charity to save the wild turtle,
Jump out of planes for the thrill of it,
Eating organic wild jellyfish burgers.


I could have been a millionaire,
But then you know what they say.

More money,
More problems.

To hell with it.

At least I'm not in a corner:
Nateive Son Apr 14

Whitman told me,
To sing of myself,
And when I did,
The song was both beautiful,
And horrendous.

So I'm giving up myself,
And becoming someone else.

Perhaps a disembodied spirit,
Or a chunk of wood.

I hear gold is a stable commodity,
Maybe I can find a balance there.

But I still say,
I'm giving up myself,
I'm going through the wringer,
Out the brick walls of something else.

And when I ooze back out as mortar,
In 250 years,
I'll look you up,
And say,
"Darling, I'm back!"

But by then the world will think,
I'm someone else.

Down back again,
Sitting on the shelf,
Of eternity.

I made you a tuna sandwich, just tell me where to ship it.

Disclaimer: do not eat the sandwich.
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