“She was a storm cloud of his making,
seeded by his doubts, . . . “
What can I say? Poetry is my first love.
“Dehydrated and short on sugar
wounds already healed
and calloused over with
no need of
first or
lemon aid
she
returned the lemon
to its puss
POW!”
“She was wild before the breaking
prone to shaking her mane with gleaming consternation
with every rider thrown before a claiming could take place –
bit by bit.”
“It was winter’s work –
and man’s . . . “
“Is every cowboy’s gaze a wanton one?” she mused.
“Is his a gun for slinging
bullets . . .
or arrows?” she wondered.
“Then, in a nasty bit of addition. . .
19 sticks of death in a Birmingham basement
disperse the magic of girls, little and fatally black — Addie Mae, Carole , Cynthia , and Denise, to be exact.
4 loving spoonfuls of browned sugar consumed and crystallized on Youth Day . . .”
“In that instant she
foreswore the daylight.”
“it’s not just
that
my wish bone is
broken . . . “
In the pocket –
hanging on to Bootsy
for dear life
foot deeply rooted
outright stuck
“on the one.”