Stay tilted in my anything but wilted spill, it’s…

Just me again reading to self some cliffside poetry…

Not a doctor or lawyer or professor or even gas station manager…

I planned it for.. my daughter, son, not till the book

is done… pardon the pun but I’m sentencing myself

to hard time with rimed verse… I’m the judge that’ll 

Be sure I hurt… my attitude curt, and I’ve caught flack 

for that…  no notice, just walk out, lust brought loud… reading 4 Hemingway novels in a day..

Break for a bottle of Zin, to my destiny oddly pinned, talk foggy from a wobbly

page binge..  like Doc Holiday, “say when”, if you want a tussle–

be smoked out of your self indulgent bubble…