- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Last Of The Known Willows
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I suppose I'll head back West now
Nothing left here for me to do
Dropping seeds along my journey
Hope for some roots of those to have chance to grow to bloom
Cursed is the name given to us by our biologicals
Any son carrying this moniker inherits an early grave
Only I and you had no heirs to nag negligent fathers
The earnest query, "Why are we this, sir, named?"
Natural disasters come to claim our siblings
House fires find straight direction to the beds in which we sleep
Tragic car rollovers, knives and suicide we die (by)
Busy street corners county coroners chalk "Reserved Space" for us Willows to weep
I'm returning to your home in Colorado
With what's all left of you that still remains
Covering future saplings with a little bit of your ashes
Honoring how you wished to live thriving granted one could a life choose again
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