wystswolf

poetry

A Texas Sunday Evening


Dusty men stand, Arms crossed or Spread In dad-shorts.

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You can make water go up hill. But rain falls all by itself.

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The Mad Hatter: “Have I gone mad?”

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I have died a thousand deaths today

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I loved a women once.

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She is a cathedral. My masterwork

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The length Of you

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Do you remember When you couldn’t get enough of them

when the sound of their voice sent you into frenzy

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Get subscribed. Or don't. Maybe don't. If you are like me, you've got more junk mail than you can delete. Your call.

Everyone has stories. For better or worse, these are mine.

My goal here has been and continues to be just me emptying my head and gut. Sometimes it strays out of bounds. That can bring some negative energy.

I will continue to write like everyone I know is dead. I hope this doesn't create challenges for you, dear reader. If it does, maybe this isn't a book you should read.

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Butterflies rest when it rains

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