I am flung away.
Always landing hard in romantic shit towns.
Severe in the process of hunting bucks.
Not deer but dollars.
As an artist who sucks.
Dimes don't come easy.
The world dismisses poetry.
as roses are red and violets are blues.
sometimes it's just a list of songs.
sometimes it's a sociopolitical extravaganza.
sometimes it is shit like this.
I just write.
and let the readers be the judge.
if I make a buffalo nickel, great.
the idea is to keep going.
at least for me.