CoyotesA Poem by Amy D. Brooks
Weeks slurred to all three months,
As we fed on rounded-edged blunts. Air-fives and dune rides with no goodbyes, It was then that I realized I could die. Freeways stuck on automatic replay, Tanked, letting rum drown the days. Traffic inched you from boy to man, Driving south with your laptop tan. The Rosarito sunrise was dried and burning, As you turned me to a Catholic virgin. Back home at one-ten with a trunk full of blow, Over through Yuma and to a slow. We stumbled away, dazed from the ride, After not long I forgot you and you I. We will never meet again, of that I am sure, I don't even remember your screenname anymore. But I'll always recall the feeling of thinking we had beat 'em, Of that first salted, bloodied taste of freedom. © 2013 Amy D. BrooksReviews
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2 Reviews Added on February 15, 2013 Last Updated on February 15, 2013 AuthorAmy D. BrooksPortland, ORAboutPerpetual underestimation inflicts nothing but the constant ability to impress. more.. |

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