austin, hueston

got storytelling in your blood, man,
ink flowing down your veins
me, i'm a jack of all trades staring
up your ace and
wondering if it's going to be okay?

because you, you've got canyons
and that smile, the one with the eye-wrinkles.
more than poetry, more than sighs
you've got bold-ass colors
and firmly painted lines
you could take austin from me with a word
and i would watch, and not be surprised

you are the first, the last, the master of my jealousy
and the mister of my man
i am sad when i see the eye-wrinkles,
thinking of how quickly he would go if you gave him
the sentence
if you just let him know.

i don't tell stories these days
so much as chew on words
thinking of distant austin, of hueston
and of birds.