Knuckle red, knuckles bleeding. Knuckles red, knuckles bleeding. My father fought and fought, wars that could not be won. He told me in his drunkenness state. He told me. I killed and I… Continue reading
Knuckle red, knuckles bleeding… (Today Johnnie is angry. Sometime I feel like my father. I am just a observer of the ugly world.) His knuckles red, his knuckles bleeding. My father fought and… Continue reading
A little mercy now… I know, I am fragments of what I was. Once loud mouth and crazy man. His eyes are heavy with sadness and memories. He told the falling sun. The… Continue reading
I drink and I will recite some wild thoughts for you… I met Bukowski once and I learn. Like my mentor, I drink and I will recite some wild thoughts for you. Pretty… Continue reading
Father never cries (Written in November 1990) My father never cries, my father rarely smiled, my father eyes turned darker, because of life burden. His body and heart gave-up in the battle of… Continue reading
Barefoot dreams A Story by Coyote Poetry Good places and friends make distance places good dreams in old age. Barefoot dreams I met the Sergeant Major nightly at the Bowling alley,… Continue reading