The Huntress, The Burrito, The Goats

She looks out the window
with blue eyes,
her breakfast burrito in hand,
the light of the day slices
gold streaks
upon them.
And she finds that the goats
once playing with each other,
headbutting heads,
have tired,
then she realizes
nothing lasts forever,
everything eventually expires.

Her head feels better.
Her mind more clear now.

Poetry from


Dream A Cream

You live the supreme dream.

The burrito supreme?

No, burrito scream?

Dream, just dream.

I spilled my burrito cream.

Spilled my tuna cream taco.

I bet you did, girlfriend.