I’m From What Makes Me

I’m from old wood floors that strengthen home.
The first arms to hold me.

I’m from well worn books and wooden paintbrushes
Colorful messes I make from my room.

I’m from eyes of the poverty of the Carolinas
A 6 month delayed run back home.

I’m from a clean uninfluenced slate.
I am outside the box.

I’m from capitol A ideals that make me hope.
Voices that share my fascination.

I’m from idols of the underground.
Burners of the 80’s

I’m from the hole in my jacket pocket that lost the right things.
The sound of a coffee grinder in the morning.

I’m from words I write on unlined paper.
“The apple of my eye.”












































































I’m from organic joy that controls my focus.
A realization of a hippy touch.

I’m from mountains in Colorado I concurred on board.
I’m from the red hut that stops me from falling

I’m from electric feel that I made with you.
Swirls of a tune pushing my head in heavy circles.

I’m from narrow allies with the brick colored 40 years ago.
Smoky basements fueled by bipartisan acquaintances