Caught in a crossfire
confused with desire
out of focus, a rush
longing for touch
two paths, which to choose
left or right
stuck in a plight
so very confused about what is right
Hope is foolish and love makes you blind, you seem to be out of time.
The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.
And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.
Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.
You were left hanging there
like a fish on a hook
helpless like a lost child
and crying out like a wolf does to the moon
and then I rescued you
pulled you out as you were drowning
in your overwhelming feelings
flailing in your problems
that tore at your heart
your heart hurting
gashed by the trials you faced
beat by the people who wronged you
and shot in the chest
by the people who left you
and then he came
you were still drowning
you were still flailing
but a little better
and I was still trying my best
to help you
reaching my hand
over the edge of the cliff
as you were falling
but I wasn't good enough for you
and then he caught you
and took you away from me
Our hunting party chased the thundering herd
over the endless plains from the sunrise
into the sunset with her splendid colors
resting for the time being.
We abandoned the successful hunt
as the Great Spirit’s
twinkling diamonds began to cover,
spill like milk across the cold night sky
with great blessings.
Somewhere the coyotes laughed.
The fires raged high, danced shadows on our faces
as we sat cross-legged, describing the day’s events
with much fervor. Tall Crow Chief and Crooked Nose
laughed like children when they talked about their kills.
Those two had great skill when it came to hunting Tatonka.
As I listened wearily, the voices of my tribesmen
began to sound muffled, things seemed more surreal,
I could not make out their words, which seemed eerily to go silent.
As if in a trance, my wanton-mind drifted with sensuous thoughts,
floating in space, back to my pretty maiden waiting in my lodge,
a full three-days ride from this manly-place.
I envisioned us both naked,
wrapped in each other’s gentle-arms,
her underneath me on top,
she submitting to my will,
my fervent desire to seed her
with my fiery warrior spirit.
She is a spectacular sight to be seen!
Her thick flowing hair is like the pitch of the night
with a voice like the nightingale,
keen-eyes as dark as raven’s tail feathers.
Her sienna-skin smooth as white man’s silk,
she has a strong feminine-sinew grip,
nips at my neck in
our primal ecstasy-states.
flow like a cascade with lovely fragrance,
sweet as sweet grass in the Spring.
I cannot ignore her tender kisses
when I release, when I spring forth.
Her sighs comfort me like none other,
her eager pushes to get more of me,
every single drop of me,
makes this hunt worthwhile.
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.
Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,
His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,
Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.
A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.
The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,
Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.
Sweat takes over my skin peeling layers of invisible masks yearning for chemical feedings. It's been days- I've been thinking slow and fragile. Bedtime has no name and it hurts. There's caution in my eyes screaming " Stay Away"! Drowning in my own body of water. "Come Clean" he whispers.
Solace and silence. I want. Dirty migraines to migrate forever. Shivers to shed as I travel back into time -not swallowing so much inside to feel OK with chemicals balancing brain beats. "Come Clean" he whispers. Flashback: I see the love of my life holding a ring on the day strange beauty died in his arms. Images creep of a little boy begging for my wake. Awake I stay.
Beginnings to a next day with no recollection. Trying to find expression in lost graphs and schedules that were once dictated by "the medicine". It made sense. Cycling back and forth through highs and lows trying to remember that God made all things. "Come clean".
In this moment I want to live only because in the next moment I'll be dead- again. I can hear the race of my heart and I want a beautiful design only because in the next moment I will come down and want nothing." Come clean".
In this moment I convince myself to skip my daily dose only because a PHD took away the nightly dose. "Come clean".
Relapse. In this moment I swallow untitled entries to close my mind from a few moments.
Drapes of madness cover the sky
As fiends run and cower to hide
Nevertheless they prey on the young
As the young go to sleep
When the light breaks through the village womb
The delirium burrows to sleep
Oil paintings of bride and groom
Made for fiends to keep
Friends of fiends mope and mope
Lamenting in fear; they cope and cope
Hence their gentle persistence
To shy away their evil
Sky shifts from orange vigor to madness
The fangs of loved ones feed off one another
Fiends run and cower to their only Mistress
Deep within the sappy dark cypress
When their bodies frolic with need
The pale eyes of love dance and feed
Luminous they are in front of black cloth
Draping the beautiful sky