#buffalo
Sacred beast, King of the plains
Feeder of the people and protector of the herd
You are the lifeline come hard times
And through your death you give life.
Sustenance, Nutrients, Nourishment to the hunter's family.
Your skin, your hide turned clothing or shelter.
Your tendons turned sinew
Your bones turned tools to be used for a lifetime.
Your muscle, your meat turned to stew and fragrant roasts
Meals turned to memories
Of families gathered around sacred fires
Laughing, loving, living another day
All thanks to you.
Tatanka
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 2:15 PM UTC
I love them,
They don’t love me.
Why would they?
They’re hot,
Juicy,
And delicious,
And I’m just…
Salty,
******* them down to the bone.
Buffalo wings rip up my insides,
They’ll inflame my chest and belly,
Giving me heartburn,
As I power through my consumption of them,
And yet I still crave them on a frequent basis,
As if I didn’t learn my lesson the last time.
Bone in or bone out,
It doesn’t really matter at this point,
I gave up trying to develop a preference,
As I’m committed to my hankering,
And seek regular satisfaction,
From the sensation and flavor they provide me.
Eyes full of tears,
I power through the pain,
Believing that each and every wing is worth it,
Even if I know they don’t agree with me,
And know **** well they are not good for me,
It’s like hitting yourself in the face,
But laughing at the sound it makes.
Wings come in all shapes, sizes and flavors,
But I choose the buffalo wing every time,
For the mere fact that they taste the best,
Even if they end up causing the most damage.
They don’t even fill me up,
But they do make me feel like I’ve had enough.
How many buffalo wings would it take,
For me to try a new flavor?
Is it the saltiness that appeals to me?
Is it the spiciness that enslaves me?
Is it the drippiness that seduces me?
Why not something sweeter, like BBQ,
Or savorier like Parmesan Garlic?
Why not choose plain old wings,
With a little bit of seasoning to keep it interesting?
Nope, I’ll always go for the buffalo wing,
I’ll always have that craving,
Because sometimes, living on the edge,
Knowing the risks and going ahead anyway,
Makes loving wings all the more worth it,
Despite their destructive ways.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 8:29 PM UTC
i can surely tell
you what it's like
out in these streets.
but i don't think
you're going to like it.
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 9:58 PM UTC
I sunk my fingers down
into the loam of an ancient
buffalo wallow and the
land that had quietly
prepared for their species
untold millennia before me.
I held the buffalo’s
mourning in my heart,
and felt the Buffalo Nations’
cry rattle against my ribs.
I opened myself to the
Earth and it spoke
sorrowfully to me
of its broken home.
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 9:27 AM UTC
Oh mighty brother of the plains
Where have you gone?
Has your life been taken with such ease as a whispering breath?
Oh mighty brother of the plains
Where have you gone?
Decaped of all pride, not just to die, but cry... Oh mighty Brother.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
It is the feeling of having previously met,
Not necessarily as a professional vet,
Dairy animals mooing to attract.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 8:43 PM UTC
We use ETBR in the laboratory,
Ethidium Bromide is a poisonous dye,
And it is to be used carefully,
RedSafe is an even deadlier alternative.
Give special attention to its use,
Low - very low amount will do,
Or it can cause health problems,
Victory over nature can be constructive,
Exposure to it can cause cancer,
Should our efforts help in medicine.
Also used is an alternative marker dye,
Lacuna not entertained in it either,
Wear gloves always in the laboratory,
Always in this field of proteomics,
Youth may be affected otherwise,
Shall be always keeping myself protected.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 6:23 PM UTC
Come on buffalo,
Open your mouth,
Of your oral cavity,
Let us collect some tissue,
And let us collect some saliva too,
And then we test for some trefoils,
Fingers crossed – let the expression be true.
It has got to be there,
We know it for humans,
But of buffaloes, we know not,
Let us perform a preliminary study,
There has not been much research,
There is just a foggy, hazy oversight,
Scientific charm – the expression is positive.
Molecular markers in the electrophoresis unit,
Mixed with a visualising dye – the ETBR,
Yes, they will dance positively as expressed,
Against 400 base pairs expressed are the TFFs,
Tough to master this technique moderately is,
We have to take numerous precautions,
Especially with the poisonous visualising dye.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:37 PM UTC
Hello,
Hello,
You are buffalo!
Your underpants are yellow!
*Coz you **** so yellow-yellow!*
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
the wind is taking more drags off my cigarette than I am. that's buffalo;
wind&concrete;&cold.;
I won't let you crawl into the gutters,
and die in the snow.
in the alleys of these long lost streets,
we keep trying to revive.
and I ask myself
if you'd let me fall asleep out in the cold,
six shots down & I don't want to know.
I'm still walking on my own,
against the cold, and keeping warm.
I'm taking good care of myself,
now that I know you won't do it for me.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
gimme that elmwood walk where we don't acknowledge each other;
my lips feel on fire and I
count the steps
for every sidewalk square;
1,2
3,4.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 5:47 AM UTC
you approach the house in zebra-print pants, wet matches and ice’d driveway,
you stumble to ignite.
spark to flame to enchant the neighborhood with midnight light.
you of the timeless once-was,
of grass or great oak,
you held the family together.
you tried to scotch-tape a butterfly’s pulled-wings back on.
[the momentum of love.]
teen boys breakdown in vacant lots
thinking of what you were to them. they
drag girls up and down the hillside, thru holes of the old factory fence,
attempting the ritual of you.
the aluminum hum if wind and night,
of highway lights on the distance.
*** on a tomb of plastic curlings.
you appear in pixels and dark bars,
face painted clown-like.
hydros in your palm, knife in your hip.
you were that girl lost between city sprawl
& old woodwork,
old wooden chairs carved upon and passed back and forth from *** to ***
class to class.
bell.
pizza delivery boy.
grease-ring soaked box and to touch his knees.
the channel changes, and he holds his breath for years,
in the wake of you.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Buffalo abound
Providing all with one hunt
Sustaining the tribe
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
But my love
You deserve to be so much more than
Another one of my mistakes
That is not what you were made of
You, my dear
You are the final destination
Utopia
After I broke myself
On unhealthy relationships
And one-nightstands
And all that is left of me
Is my purest self
I will arrive
Ready to be loved by you
Ready to love you too
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
Every evening I sit on the banks of the Old Man
Withdrawing the gurgles and churns
And applying it as salve to my soul.
I meditate on the modernistic monolith
Perched on the banks of the coulees.
A castle made of sand, so to speak;
A house of learning; fiat lux~medicine rock.
The name isn't important, its role is.
The binder in the masonry is metaphor that I use to
Bind me to my duty on this plane of existence.
*I am a miniscule piece of an eternal pie.
Still, my actions are important.
Every choice I make sends a signal back to the pie
Reminding It of its essence.
It is not apple or cherry or pizza, even
The eternal pie that we are all a piece of is Love*
Those castles I spoke of earlier
Are continuously flowing
Back into the love
From whence they came.
Why the duality?
Why not just stay in the spirit world and commune with Love?
2 reasons
1. Our souls need to grow: for growth we take to the physical, mental, and spiritual plane
2. Love is imperfect: the definition needs further unraveling
1 word
< ~ ~ Evolution ~ ~ >
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
He had a confident anxiety,
and a stage name.
Who the hell has a stage name anymore?
He ****** down cigarettes like he was
trying to eat their insides. Violently.
Swore he was a fighter.
Feint at the sight of blood.
I knew the last king of jazz, yeah,
he drank whiskey and sang out of key.
Stole his act from Tom Waits,
like any respectable artist does,
you'll come to find.
He was a big man, literally, intimidating in size
if he wasn't so **** funny. Not goofy, just funny.
Southern man, migrated north.
The south of the north; Buffalo.
Most depressing city in the world,
but you learn something from a guy like that
in a city by Buffalo.
How to survive, maybe,
or how to keep it together long enough.
Long enough for what?
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
The headdress danced in the sun
On the Indian's hollow
And eyeless skull.
It was framed in feathers
Brightly-colored serpents in the
Salty air flames licking at
Dancing and ***** bare feet.
Dark-skinned, tall, high cheekbones
And solemn eyes full of
Wisdom--he surveys the
Badlands, Moses's rigid face
Blank and silent in a
Heatwave desert.
Beyond the teepees and the
Black bonfire smoke and
The buffalo rhythm, the plateau has
Risen, bleached bones
Litter the plains as a constant
Reminder.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC