What I call myself
These days
Drinking the black stuff.
Writing notes so fast
I conjure up a Texas winter
In July.
My sons gave up
On the mantra I said would save them
And left.
Forty years I believed I had something to say
Words finally exposed me-
A man mute with truth.
But there is a God. Life is shorter
Than we think it. So sorry
We kissed our souls good-bye.