Photo by Pablò on Unsplash

Corral Outlook

Setting the meal of the soul.

If I said I was a cowboy
would you try to rope me in?

Can’t help it if I’m crying tears of dust
the rust of washed-up dreams aching in my joints.

See you standing there
imaginations static in the breeze.
Turbines combing gears grinding slow.
Gentle laugh lifts the soul.
Wonder creases hardest nights…

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Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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Greg Prince

Greg Prince

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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