War Song

Starlings, starlings, starlings.

And crows. Only the end of August,

and here they are, already preparing

for an even deeper end.

As am I. Got my 30/30 rifle in the corner. My new ax next to that.

A whole field of sage in a small clay pot, ready to neutralize all the evil spirits---the world's wickedness trying to pickle itself in our blood. I want to be clear here

and tell you that John Wayne was really not as horrible as everyone thinks. Even my Native father says so. At night, he watches bad westerns to fall asleep so he can dream of good medicine. Simple as that. This is true reconciliation.

This is the actual universe---its gravity

and propulsions hooking up

in the shadows, followed by

the impossible sounds that will undo your further attempts at reason. Because you don't know shit. I don't know shit. And God will never have a face. Heh-yah, heh-yah, ho!

thunder---

a small dog shivers

at its own ghost