COYOTE BLOOD
poetry, art, mistakes, music, love, visions and everything...
twelve tone scare
even nights
I tell myself
I am not gonna write,
writing chooses me.
even when I say
I am done with you,
you creep into my
fever dreams.
even when east harlem
lets me down
I still sleep in its streets
making love to it all.
Newer Post
Older Post
Home