the gray grasses sang sweet songs,
without even a breeze to move them
the coyote howls were marrow yellow,
crimson, as their sour colors sifted
into the night

lightning streaked my charcoal
sky, and I could taste it, a salted butter
that tickled the throat on the way down,
the sonic booms it hatched smelled of baked bread,
and I hungered for more  

then a white owl spoke to me,
but I did not hear it call my name
no, not mine--though its hoots formed ice,
chunks which pummeled me, froze me
to the bone

Just like landscape
Set in stone
Blend right in
Vaperous bones
You didn't see me
I already know

The heat is relentless
I wait around for dusk to arrive
While waiting for
Reprieve to arrive
While my father is fading
We are waiting
He is wading in
Still waters
Between the worlds
He says the words
Of peyote guides
In the crystalline skies
I saw in your soul
That time at the crossroads
And there are blue auras
About the land
I know not who
Heard echos spoken
They didn't see
How many are broken

I'm sick to death of me
living vicariously
through meaning-
less words like
a mocking bird
mocking a gull
on a wave-less shore
or a man without oars
(f)or a life (raft) on a lost
ship adrift in an angry sea
and no anchor or eyes
on the horizon somewhere
west of anywhere but here.