Readings this at my dad's funeral :)
June 4th, 1991...
You are not obligated
to pick a brush and paint...
Miss King is fat
with flesh, flesh...
For centuries
they've trapped you...
You, poet,
with your toes clenched in river mud...
Let the wind soothe me,
sweep away all my mortal encumbrances...
She was born with eyes
of crystal blue medallions...
If cigarettes could talk -
I wonder what they...
Your heart is
beating...
Forever Wanderer
Collage of memories...
Promises are just trinkets of deception ,
cleverly crafted with no hidden exceptions...
A downpour of daydreams
bursted from broken seams...