dear john wayne


there is

ulcerous stillness on the reservation


dogs shake across the hills
with no living guilt


“lord, let us go and clean them up”

they say smartly,


“the men are chapped & bitter”

“the women are just worn leather,

given adornments to make them seem

human”


there are bitter sunsets

and unnoticed gunfire,


& the night is a type of black

that is clean somehow

in its merciless throat.

03/17/2007