I'm thirsty, but my well has run dry
I'm *****, yet still worthy
From the farmer stains on my jeans
And thighs.
I'm hungry, I'd pick a plant
If my plants were healthy enough to eat.
To bad their stealing some of my land
More cahoots from the fda
And regulation thieves.
Can't grow the way I want to
Lands been uprooted
The other farmboys are catching on
Look at Colorado
Yellow water sickens one
Making land polluted.
Out and booted
Though still standing the low ***** ground.
I'll stick head high here and by
My plow and ol farmers truck to the ground.
And a shotgun if any come around.

clouds unwind
bring winter
in their white breath
dissolve and murmur
to the sea-sombre skies
of the scurry of wind
and wave
of the tumultuous
ache of the night
its oceans
its impenetrable
depths
its shore-slumbering
lights, in the thick
folding of winter
mist
the wonderment
of cloud.

a shell of a boy steps
out to greet the chill
seeking to be filled
he sits near a street light
but not too close, see
he goes at night
for the stars
his excuse is the cigar
he reaches for a light
and fills his lungs with tar

a small, filtered conduit
the moment slows and stops
he finds himself withdrawn from it
he doesn’t check his clock

time is a luminous ember
moving toward his finger
he decidedly remembers he
won’t try to make it linger

besides,
it’s long since he believed
he is ought but little more
than the smoke he breathes

a shell of a boy
steps inside
filled with smoke
but filled
nonetheless

so I smoked my pint of tea
googled culture
discovered I had to join society
or fill out five hundred forms
to join the human race
got transmitted STd's and itchy
things
or had to pierce painful things
fake my ethnicity
or ******* cut my hair
or drink in smoky rooms
stumble around learn to play games
to get to know her be fake
say I am a doctor wanna free Pap-smear dear?
And then even with my resisting
found out I Kant

Dear friend,
I wish you could tell me
how am I supposed to speak when I know
my words will never reach your ears again,
how am I supposed to breathe when I know
that I no longer share the air with you,
how am I supposed to listen to anything
when I know my ears will never hear your voice again?

Dear fried, tell me
how am I supposed to wake up every morning
and see the daylight
when I know my eyes will never meet yours again?

How am I supposed to touch anything when I know
that my hands will never again touch your skin?
and tell me,
how am I supposed to feel warm
when your arms will never again be around my body?

Dear friend, please tell me
how am I supposed to let other lips kiss my forehead?

How am I supposed to smell the tulips again
Without remembering how you used to say that
I am like a tulip —beautiful in my simplicity?

Dear friend, please tell me
How could you go
When you promised you would never ever
Leave me?

This is my family
splayed out like a fox
caught in the headlights of a
passing car, all brown fur
& wandering teeth,
dried up & tossed on a lonely street.
Left behind unaware of
the wreckage caused,
the family bereft of a sister
 & daughter so loved.
That's what I see from the clouds,
from my imagined suicide.
I see a lost family
trying not to stare at a
huge empty chair.
A Christmas table now a shadow,
not a celebration but a day to fear
& that stops any thoughts I
might have about trying to
disappear.

The cold comes in,
ricochets like a
tennis ball
off every
corner, crevice
pore, stormy
gusts of wind
I breathe in,
skin is no
barrier I am
the elements
carrier, organs
coastal &
lungs tidal sea,
I am nature
& nature is me.

If I seem distant it's
because I am.
I abandon this city
like rain down gutters
trying to get back
to a home, a field, a shore,
no traffic, no smoke
where air is pure
& lungs breathe deep,
in a rhythm
untarnished by
tarmac & brick;
modernity's grip
that looks for life
& buries it, forgets
Earth has a pulse
a heart that beats
beneath us.

I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road since first,
I came to be here.

This journey was my awakening
as to the new existence
I would step into.

Foreign to me, the illustrious homes.
Huge dripping willows,
old oaks, and poplars...
Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns left behind
in lush green grass...

This road is winding.
One needs to go slowly.
Families, children, animals, 
all enjoy this path.

The wind blows at this highest point,
up above the glacial basin
that forms the river below.
Once all farmland.
before...
home of
Ojibwa,
Lakota

The Spring.
The Deep Spring of Healing.
Ancient, pouring forth
from the center of the Earth.

This winding
windy road,
brought me to a place of solitude...
an open space.
Land of endless possibilities.

I have traveled this road. 
I have traveled this road
since first
I came to be here.

This road was my awakening as to the
new existence I would step into.

Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns left behind
in lush green grass.

The wind blows at this highest Point,
up above the Glacial Basin,
that forms the river below

Once all farmland.
Before...
Home of
Ojibwe,
Lakota.

The Spring.
The Deep Spring of Healing.

Ancient, pouring forth from the center of the earth.

This spring, that has quenched my families thirst.
This spring, that brought my family here 14 years ago

This road
brought me to a place of solitude...
An open space.
A land of dreams.

And yet..I wonder,
what dreams
will this land hold for Me?