Found in Willow Springs 67
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Ghost Road
Somewhere
nowhere &
her not here
& nothing but
a weird & weary
recitation of ever
changing songs
to a whole brain
to a broken brain
to a dead brain
to a ghost brain.
In dreams I wait
for the ghost brain
to devour the broken
& become whole again.
I am no factotum of despair.
I do worship ancient hungers
& chins dribbling blood, but I
am so tired of the taste of my heart.
Sunset at the Indian Cemetary
Not one of the red seeds
planted will ever sprout.
Pray for them.
A chunk of yellow fat,
the winter sun is circled
by gaunt prairie crows.
Pray for the crows.
Pray into the lung-
shocking, cold wind
shrieking freakishly into
these boundless yucca hills.
Pray for all those who believe
our DNA is forever tainted
by the cosmic, brilliant
truth that we have been
here forever, maybe longer.
