Walking up Goliad listening to the morning
song of the old trees, the irises are flying
their colors beneath the soft parade of periwinkle
clouds being pushed over the rooftops of the gentries
three story condominiums just out of reach
of the straining finger tips of the oldest
trees the streets almost crowded for a moment as
the herd of neighborhood soccer moms jogs past
crossing me on Empire with the arrival of the first light.
me in my skin crawling with insecurities, black
leather motorcycle jacket, black denim jeans,
black steel toed work boots and a crown made of this black
bandana worn as if I were an urbane pirate.
Joey Cloudy online 
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