43/17: robust

these nights i feel my blood
everywhere,
circling my skull
with intention and bringing
antiquated pollen up and through
my heart;
keeping rhythm with the in and out of
my lungs.

i can tell you this:
we are primal and sturdy animals
constructed carefully by the handiwork
of eons.

i know i am an animal;
i trust everything in place to make me so.
i am naked skinned and warm blooded and
i smell of the earth from which i came.

42/16: so said chief lelooska

I promise, you can trust the loon.
You might not think so,
but you can.

He will heal you;
nearly drown you
and end up
saving your life.

15/31

I'm ready to talk about creation.

Actually, let's not talk about Humanity
because that's easy.
A spirit person slayed another
and we sprouted from her blood.
And something about foam and teeth
(planted like seeds)
and something like
an ever expanding, soon to be collapsing infinity.
Right?
So, not that.

Creation, like, the breaking apart of my femur
and sucking out the marrow,
both red and yellow, and
allowing two single cells to grow
tucked away inside my blood
and inside my foam.

I don't care about humans, as a whole,
just a tiny one.

40/14: two

i want to write my words on dried leather.
and completely forget about being hurried
and completely forget about being weighed down

i think that part of me stands on
the cusp of one thousand canyons -
echoing around like the sun light.
i have enough love for at least,
but probably exactly, one eon.

but then,
i have this other part of me

i think that, most likely, i have a
crude metal sword swung by my ancestors and
hollowed down the middle. cold metal and
jewelry and goats - and enough
loyalty to last all my life.