HUNT FOR FOOD, NOT SPORT
I remember when I was younger, my daddy taught me hunt for food not sport.
Now I’m older, his words stick with me in the desert, where I am hungry.
Modern living has left me starving.
Beneath the buildings, I started laughing.
I started walking. The sun was smiling.
Now it’s scowling, the wind is howling.
The hills are my home, the fire my wife.
My story the miles, the kill is my life.
The hills are my home, the fire my wife.
The dirt is in my blood, my will is the knife.
It’s enough to make a sane man go mad.
PHOENIX
It took you far from home.
Too hard, too calloused.
A promise made of stone, softly spoken.
No way you could’ve known, you were too young then.
But now that you are grown, regret too often.
Ambition always shadows your days, smile betrayed by the lines on your face.
A laceration much too deep to heal.
A separation much too wide to seal.
BLACK BIRDS, GREY SKY
Black birds on a grey sky. This is my Dallas sunrise.
It’s too cold for this time of year.
I could complain, no one would hear.
LBJ for miles in decay.
Westbound for the golden state.
For the ashes of a girl I loved, after Earth ends ashes are enough.
She took my love and ran.
I’ll pry it out of her dead hands.