I have a new book coming out on Interior Noise Press. Some of these will be submitted for it, others will not. Laying on a pile of poems and just posting them as I feel it. So, to read the poems that won't be on here...you have to buy the book! I'll let you know when its coming out, shouldn't be till later this year which gives me plenty of stuff to post stuff, and stash stuff, to make an incredible book.
Cowboys and Indians
When me and my sister were little.
We would pick berries in the field behind the house
And paint our faces with them
Young smiling faces with halos
singing red red songs of war
Everyone knew about Cowboys and Indians
And mostly people wanted to be the Cowboy.
I wanted to be the Indian
And so I think I was.
I’ve never slaughtered a bull and used its hide for warmth
But I’ve strangled the moon,
Shaking out words to hide under
I’ve killed plenty of cowboys though
And I can make my own weapons
Or from wood
Or from words
And I dance on their graves
Saying ancient chants
About taking back my land
It was all for play
And all make believe
Who would of thought every cowboy is carrying a gun
And The Indians with their war paint
Spend all day chanting for rain.
A flood would do us all in
And I should have eaten those poison berries
While there was still a happy ending