A poet's words,
Are a vaccine,
For all the world's ills.
...
I've been in the desert for so long now,
I've missed my home and my only friend.
And now I sit here, asking myself how,
My heart can break, as my days here end.
...
One people, so many bloods.
The Hispanic people against the odds.
European, Asian, dark as the night,
Blond and blue eyed, exceedingly white.
...
He stretched his wings, then drank his fill.
From the earthen saucer on the stand.
I looked at him, with a joyous thrill,
He was just four feet, from my right hand.
...
A blue bottle landed on my nose,
While a poem I attempted to compose.
It wiggled it's legs and cleaned it's wings,
And did so many other things.
...
Every morning I wake I see you through my window,
Hot, unforgiving, mysterious, and so beautiful.
As I lie here in my bed, I hear your call in my head.
The call to the washes, and the canyons, and the creosote bushes,
...
Happiness to me, is sleep without dreams,
It's to lie lost to all and to the world
It's my internal alarm ringing on time
It's awakening refreshed and strong
...
I see faces
In the clouds.
I hear voices
In the wind.
...
A bottle of wine, and a moonlit night,
A little side table, on the sidewalks side,
Soft gentle music, filters through the air,
The breeze blowing gently, through your auburn hair.
...