back log

the strength of the drink or
quieting stampede
i believe in sandy hills
hidden by history and laughter
raucous in rye
arcane cactus speaking for me
knowing god and all the sky on fire
how every inch of it is between
the souls of my feet
though i am nothing
in weight
but a spring lying by slow gait
over ground that has layered
dust upon all the fallen

____________________________

cold war-

mth
maybe august
for all of
it/s humidity
finding
a drawn out sommer/s
hands being cleaned
by the blood of billions
of bouncing bison
who saw that happened
from one end of the plain
to the far reaching
black hills but
never spoke up over
the chugging trains
and hapless aim

_________________________

some of these are private.
they are crap.
_________________________

ants

you decide that they
vanish
its partially true
we arent sure where
they go but you say
they just go home