Poetry
Winter 2010
A Note from the Tired Diary of a Dirty Old Man
Across the black belt of night, star fires tease faint memories of home. I cross the wide Missouri near Crow Creek, SD. Years ago smoke blended campfire shadows of a […]
Poetry
Winter 2010
A Mere Handful of Years before Blessed Retirement
Does language birth vision or does vision birth language? Twitching terrifically, a hefty girl lurks at my office door & asks the chicken & egg question as she gnaws upon […]
Poetry
Winter 2010
Indian Cowgirl in Space
Itchy songs in the soil gave her fifty-five years of stomping, mad dancing, barefoot upon the alien planet. Until. Finally. Black-fanged bloodworms pierced her flesh & she became alienated too. […]
Poetry
Winter 2010
The Tattered Flags of the Four Directions
1. Yellow Vibrant yellow, larger than my hand, a butterfly the color of butter slaps against my face as I step out the front door on the way to your […]
Poetry
Spring 2000
High Plains Weather Report: Elements of Madness in the Air
For Charlie Mehrhoff I’m getting colder as I grow older. This is the first week of August and the high today is 57 degrees. I’m rubbing my hands together to […]
Poetry
Winter 1995
Vortex of Indian Fevers
Remember this first: Shit don’t flow uphill. Robert Stewart If you got the dinero, I got my Camaro. Freddy Fender I. Over a hundred and five degrees for the third […]
Poetry
Autumn 1991
After Long Silence Marilyn Returns
I Another all-staff meeting at the Indian collegerun by white UFO’s who pull the stringsof visionless Indian administrators. The crazy wasicus are all present, each having crawled outfrom their own […]
Poetry
Autumn 1991
Sometimes a Warrior Comes Tired
When the last red man shall have perished from the earth and his memoryamong the white men shall have become a myth, these shores shall swarmwith the invisible dead of […]
Poetry
Autumn 1991
Sunset at Pine Ridge Agency
Waiting for you waiting for food stamps, I watch an old man with a brown faceand swollen red nose lower the flag at the Pine Ridge Agency and try to […]
Poetry
Spring 1989
Farewell to Synthesis
Schooled namers of names are but fatherless boys who deal in the demanding joys of posing pragmatic purple mountains beneath the rose-fingered dawn. But we’re lost in lairs of necessity […]