blue bonnet nights in texas

I am the creator and I am here,
in Texas among green fields and
the blooming blue bonnets of spring.
I could smell the gunpowder when firing a shotgun,
but I miss the palm tree's and concrete jungles of home.
one becomes accustomed to the smog, the sirens,
the police and homeless
on the streets- asking for change.
my words are dry and my heart is blue,
I'm lost but somehow found by the love of a woman but
I'll take another drink, remind myself of home,
of billowing smoke in front of this machine
typing the impossible words
arriving in the impossible way.
one struggles but somehow arrives,
wherever we're headed we'll never know.
cowboy boots and hats were not my destiny,
the storefront churches are what I understand not what I know,
but they are there and more welcoming
then the green fields of cattle and tractors and
the mexican hands tilling the fields, plowing, picking,
maintaining.
no matter where I arrive,
I will arrive here.
online
and in front of the
eternal
page.
a million blogs and poets
may thrive,
but none like myself
none like the poems
of my own.
in 2007 when
they began,
or 2013 where they continue
and
are,
my own.
the poems will always arrive,
and as my new
texas love
sleeps,
twirls,
and sighs
as I type,
I will end,
and remain with my soul,
my own,
just as before
and just as now.

forevermore.
but not,

like,

edgar allen poe.