Violets fell
from your mouth, smoke
in purple filaments
Your laughter spills from
frozen tongues
you are
 
you are
 
you are
 
a thousand words
in a silent room
echoing from
my naked mouth,
the folds layering
in my mind:
 
red and blossomed nectar
filling the hollows
of my ears.

don't look, I
run with the wind, amok gilted hands
fast lacing,
i've only got six fingers saved for
dead kachinas, and I'm

wheeling rough
through the underbrush;
mixed Wiley yellow, willow
peering in on my schemes, paint
pallet dragging leaves
over the hills and holes of
my body's deepest grief

so brush up the tic
and wipe off the blood,
if i'm treading through this
horse hyde, then lift
up my red dress
and sift out the weeds
 
bramble ramble, ramble
soothsayer hanging bones from
his swollen empty gut-- I

got a rain-stick, talking-stick
Yellow Wampum floating, bagging
sick sweat, for Appaloosa, holy, holy

leave, god anger ugly,
golden painted leaves

and if i'm too swollen, and if you're too
sullen-- i've got a bag of névé rocks for you
so hitch up the tobacco and wait
for tomorrow

my deer running, hoof trotting, snow
blowing legs will be comin' soon.

Milk approaches
the net of unforgivable schemes,
Dare to cross over
the border of 45 hundred
fingers; a sea of burning
skin.  A sigh falls from my lips
and white phlox follows
wherever I cast my seed.

I.
Only burning
threads of copper hair
cleave the world of eyes.
An apparition came
to me in wilted,
feeble ash.
 
II.
Maybe it was just the
shifting of seasons or the
forgotten eulogy of a
somewhat vague
memory.

Faster, gambling
rambling Mother, glides
Laughing, Africa sailing smooth
Jazz lips, spit gold
Gorgeous.

I told you so.

Sil, never leaning, *******
his last basket of fire, Glitzy ****
box of matches, ashes
crowd and birth
Saturday nights, street
lights scattering a
boy sullen, smiles
rolling across faces

Another line down
dust flailing tubes of tissue,
The mirror steadies the
marrow, bones breaking
gums, blow another
let a little light
shine through, and he'll watch
himself

stone the silence of
Jazz and all that jazz
and laugh it off until
the sun illuminates
what god gave, *** and
sleep and smoke and sin

Every night, a gun explodes
and I've got to smile, I've
got a little white witch
swallowing, brass eyes to
the West, gold-- this has never
been so hot

Not like thighs lingering
for another second, pass
her around until we're
giggling and crossing our
legs as young ladies do

but, I'll save that
for Sunday morning.

Her eyes are sleepless,
a rabid calm awaits the fury.

Her skin is white
and she is on fire.

And will the Wayward pass?
A lantern was lit and Carthage
filled their cups
to the brim.
A false-hide of red faces
to let forgiveness pass
and join the ******-- a raven
to beat the window, a winged
stratum to remain eaten
and wasted in the mouth.

It is not an oath, an ebb
that hovers when enchanted.
It is a tongue swollen
It is sorrow stretching from
the back-bone and a soul left
to live,

just to live.