Southern Texas (day 1111)

You don’t get to where you are
By building holes in attics.
There’re Devils grinning here
At these temptations crossroads.
Like my organic lover
Chastised in a bed of thorns,
I am too beaten into blood-let confessions,
Loosened until I am deliberated.
Happy because I have heaven.
Can you whistle to me magic?
Woop-de-woop.
A lovers forever magnetic
And I’ve left for Southern Texas, mom.

Slow Low Whistle (day 989)

Mimic my every cry
As I let you whistle low
I’m ready for the hunger
I’m ready for the feast

Left alone at the crossroad
Pack all filled with air
A dollar too much down
Dusty register’s golden crown

Felt hard in my left
Checked the other one again
Heard my freight-train-a-coming
Lookin the other way now

Long road comin hard
Off to another day
Felt the executioners tail
Felt the grip to mother-me

Ramblin rose staring at me
My eyes gone, going back understood
Creeking sleep covering me
Lurching stops frightening me

My bag and me settling in
Easy train rumbling on
Lost my voice miles ago
Keeping my whistle down low