I wasn’t made from the rib of a man
I was fashioned from a potent mixture
Of Gun Powder
And the Seeds of Bluebonnets
Bound together with the Sap of Mesquite Trees
I didn’t crack forth from the skull of a god
I was born in an Oyster Shell in Galveston Bay
And adorned with Pearls on my Birthday
I’m the Feral Daughter of the
First Twilight Star and the Bobcat.
The Child of a Blue Norther
That picked up the Red Dirt and carried
It to the rich
Soil south
Snakes and bones and musical thrones.
Wife’s long gone. The son won’t come home.
Here you stand, king of the hill.
Miserable and angry, a bitter pill.
You set it afire to watch it all burn,
Now all you can do is sit and yearn
For the things you had fore you run them away.
A love, a child, and friends that would stay.
Why, aren’t you a haughty bitch
In a nasty mood?
Slinging words like razor blades,
Tearing down simple beauty
Because you have failed,
In your desire for a life free of effort.