South Carolina

Rain on chilled breezes,
Memories of winter mornings on the South Carolina coast,
the “low country”.

I want to shuck an oyster,
suck her down!
Take a Tabasco sauce shooter,
from Mother Nature’s cleavage!

Watch the pelicans soar above the grey tide,
get drunk on seawater,
and drive blindly into a the stagnant swamp.

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Filed under Outlaw poetry, poetry

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