Bull Hawking Poems

The cacti say I don't have a prairie
Of ever reaching you
My arms are opened out so wide
I've got to find you flying there
...

Words are all I have for hands

So gimmie a hand or four for loving you
...

sunshine is the last to die

you may lose the music curling in your ear
...

wonders how the tree feels

when it's only partly felled
...

if you were my sigh lance

i'd throw you in the weeds
...

someone like looking at her A-ness

she said it was none of his B-ness
...

I'm the protractor of your degrees

overlying angles tight and loose
...

He could disgust the wind

She could freeze the breeze
...

Don't laugh at my yokes
I'm just a hard boiled egg
Hooked to a chariot on fire
Oh how I gotta get outta here
...

When your lover becomes your monster

Or...ok....maybe your Mama
...