Llano Estacado

a landscape traced on
the surface of my heart
is pockmarked throughout
by spikes since ripped away
pitons of idols that
once held me enslaved

identified,
vanquished,
battled meridian-ly

pushing back the beast

but thankfully
there are some stakes
that stay and don’t
make strongholds
their named for you
and hold me fast
to where I need to be

ascertained,
distinguished,
rallied quotidian-ly

at the very least

Poetry Scales 148