.
One day gone in the long great forest
Of the ancient world, wolves alone
And mighty hungered with true kin
Stalking the tundras of the snow drifts
And all their prey, with cautionary eyes
Moved in heards and flocks swaying
With the sounds of the forest floor
And the spearing grasses.  The wolf
Was his own master, free, unbounded.
A great spirit, brother to the moon.

One dying day, when the bushes burned
They came upon the garbage dumps
Of early man.  Their smoke was laden
With the smell of fresh ****, small skins,
Animals, ended trail, and salted death.
Many wolves circled in fear, their pits,
Only one or a few tasted the left overs
The easy scraps and bones, tailings,
The elder pack would not stoop for.
These few unguarded wolves morphed
And mated with each other, their mane
And fur, soon was tamed, soon became
Mottled and brown no silver remaining.
This was the fall of the wolf, not man
And the moon turned white, when wolf
Became dog.

A nimbus spreads
toward the rim of
a puddle...
legs hopping its
saintly sun,
down-to-earthly.

Thunders dance in my veins.
Energy nourishes my body.
Every day
I wake up
And
Breathe
Light.

Crowning canopies
of trees,  mid monotonia
to their wood, huddled
in prayer.
Cobwebed against the great ultramarine Eight--
brittle scintillas, gloaming
to vespers.

The withering of
flowers only initiate
their drift to incredible
refinement.
Their scents remain
in the ethers, these
stars of spring...that
forever inspire winter.
To withdraw from
its white meditation,
as unblent color.

I shake the box
and you can hear
the clunk of cheap erasers
and loose change.
the weight shifts
like a topside crew
on a troubled barge.

I flick the ash
and where it lay
a thousand eyes
bleed for nothing.
and in passing
I may have crushed
a bead of sweat...
truant from
my brow.

it's the little things
that loom large
in the awkward heart
and so very slowly
the usual bloom
on the rose
is dismantled.

by a larger display
in a palm.

Shining a bright light of truth into the darkness,
  great warriors of Standing Rock Sioux Tribe  

Protecting mother earth and all things sacred,
protecting mother earth's water and land

The Standing Rock Sioux tribe of North Dakota,
fighters and heroes for the great of mankind

With their words shining like our Sun, Bright
burning away lies of white men far and Wide