Itching through the red clay
Eczema, that is West Texas.
Two boys with broken hearts and me.
I can’t relate when they commiserate.
I’ve never had a broken heart. I’ve no idea.
You took that away. My only chance at poetry.
And it makes me feel like a lucky piece of shit
As we leave behind fields of trash and cattle.
They hum the Coyote Spell
Those pretty witches cast in Santa Fe.
Where we stayed, and delayed we sang,
and drank and laughed for far too late.
I’ve never had a broken heart, I’ve no idea.
You took that away. My only chance at poetry.
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