Janus

why not shut my eyes up on me
god of gates and doors?
with a stinging wince
i cannot bear witness
to my life anymore
---to any true meaning
i have shut down
at thirty
but am somewhere past fifty
now it seems i can't
even have a simple rage
the pheonix flew
but walked back to the cage
my mind falls like feathers
i pop a pill
---one good idea,
perhaps two
manages to permeate
through the gilded lids
"not good enough"
some demigods say
wants more purity
wants the removal of foreskin
even the oracle lies to me
---says just a little more suffering
and you'll be pure prophesy
the furies
the minotaurs
continue to bullshit on
courting the debutantes
who have all dyed their hair blonde
meanwhile Medusa
spits out bad poetry
i see the weight
on atlas's corroded palms
and so i lie
down
with my makeshift
laurel-leaf crown
i have overpleaded
to many gods
amongst the ashtray altars
been reborn in the
beer-drenched waters
and Venus with her clammy hands
was a sugarcoating bitch
i could not bear to stand
Not even Janus could
give me a new beginning
so when he turned away
---it was even more
insulting

DOG DAYS

The days here do not move
they drag on
like a dog pulling its dead legs
and there is simply
nowhere to get to
they just fester and blister
in the fullblown sun
snapping at me
like a wild thing
it's hot sour breath
melts me to sinewy meat
I am overwhelmed
by the manginess
of my poverty
an itch that cannot be scratched
a past that cannot be passed

I long for the days
when my eyes stared glossy
---a simple dull
like a puppies
even the moon picks on me
it's sickly yellow eyes
are daunting
the damn rays from its bald face
weigh on me
like porcupine quills
on a dog's snout
and there is no one around
to pull them out

KID ICARUS


Every Indian has a silver lining
I thought to myself
As I saw a young skin
Trying to fly
through downtown Pine Ridge
Amidst all the dirt clouds
He had speckles of silver paint
Around his mouth
And zeppelins
That were his fingertips
Making zig zags
Across the air
But he was going nowhere
I’d thought had the spray paint
Been gold
He’d be Icarus
Befittingly burnt by the sun

What mangy wings we have
Unable to get off the ground
Without a wicked substance
We are the meek
But we will not inherent a thing
Even if we could rise
With our degenerated bones
Most of us around here know
It’s a no-fly zone
How amazing
Those golden gates must be
But I cannot imagine standing
On a white cloud
Tracking mud into heaven
I would never be let in
Perhaps I should’ve ran to
That Gabriel Indian
Blowing into his plastic
Bag trumpet
Perhaps I should’ve rose up and joined him
It’d be the closest I’d ever get
in the sweet chariot, the sweet vapors
of a heaven

Hello. Just an update.
The new book that I am in along with
three other talented writers can now be preordered
at the following links:
SHEDDING SKINS

Shedding Skins: 4 Sioux Poets