Thursday, March 24, 2022

Purple hands

In an old boarding school picture

I saw those native boys

With purple hands

The anguish in their eyes

full of pain

From the nuns who bound                                                                                                                            

 their hands with ties

simply for being left-handed

And I felt my own left hand cramping up

-from the shame

--from the pain of being told

I couldn’t write with it.

Those white teachers in grade school

 told me it was wrong

and so they forced me

to write using my right hand.

And was it right?

To be taught this way?

An education pockmarked

with superstition

And in their beliefs

--I felt I was marked

by the beast of my kind

By their notions of me being wild

 backwoods, unrefined

I used to dig my nails into my left palm

So much that it hurt--that it bled

A stigmata self-made

A byproduct of shame

of being told I am one of Cain’s children

And I am marked

by the color of my skin

Doomed to be a stolen orphan

Buried in an unmarked grave

Just like those poor children

with purple hands

Crying through the photograph

I feel it still        echoing

in my mind, my memories

--of past trauma handed down to me

generation to generation

I am those children

Stuck in a system of nuns, of priests, of schools

That have tied me into their notion

That I can be taught to be just like them

That I can live a life without sin

And I cry and I want to unbind

Left hand, right hand

Wrong way, right way

And with this all of this

hatred and frustration

I forgot I had my own heartlines, lifelines, bloodlines

I cut off my own circulation

Wednesday, November 21, 2018


Is it inherited?
The need to conquer
dark-skinned people?
the savagery
of our ancestors is passe

for even old gods are updated
grow new names
and move west for the winter
stow away the baggage
empires of contemporary
always give way for new slayers
separate and then conquer
if not with genocide
then by papers

was whispered
in mt Olympus
and eventually trickled down
until every sacred thing
was profited off of
--even dear old jesus

but who knew
the sins of the father
would impact all of us
oh uranus
you should have ate your child
hind and quartered
and fed him to the masses
now you sit throne-less
and castrated

and Gaia suffers
what she once birthed
the Aftermath
of the afterbirth
now she sits soaking
in the toxic rot

we are mere descendants
of cannibals
you eat what you become
from the status
to the anus
e pluribus unum
we are the scraps from mt olympus
and what of father Cronus?
he dined and dashed
and we are the stiffed
the everlast-ing gaze
--spitting image of father
--of jesus
---and all the gods that came before us

let us reign
let us prosper
until the new digital god comes
to devour us
anus and all

Little Horse

(For baby Scott)

You came galloping
Into this life
Quickening the deadbeat
Heart in me
I never saw such a beautiful creature
Running down the lineage
Of wild horses
That went off too soon
Little one
You are the future of things
With the proud nose
Of my ancestors
You will face the enemy
You will smile at the beauty of family
The pain only makes us stronger
So hang in there
Let us see what tomorrow
may bring
Hope is an open prairie
With no end in sight
So keep galloping
As the old man in me
Shouts from the humble ground
So loudly up to the heavens
In hopes that the ancestors
Will come roaring and thundering
Across the sky
To our creator
Pleading--- let the young one stay!
Let him breathe into his nostrils
The dirt world--the old west
Thats both mean and unrelenting
Until a young colt comes along
--With a soft touch
Makes it worth
 all of the suffering

as old ways die
new ones begin

Friday, September 21, 2018

Warrior of Nothing

do we forgive each other in death?

the silence of that answer
wraps around my neck like a choker
do you know on the other side
that i was angry with you?
to forgive and ask for forgiveness
is futile
like a breastplate
i am not impenetrable
Against solid truths

the regrets burst thru
the ribcage
and remains lodged in the heart
break it like an arrow
and bleed out
i have cauterized the wound
with booze
so that tomorrow
the hangover
will subdue
and succumb me into submission
that i can undo
what is done
i can unsay what was said
For what can the warrior do
that a chief hasn't done already?

the chief that wears the head dress
is thankfully not me
i have earned no recognition
light as a feather
heavy like a burden

i would pluck my own hair out
strand by strand
until i am bald and mad
then they would look at me
and understand

i should be counseled
by the council
i should be riding
eagerly into  a battle, a cause worth dying (for)
because death is where i want to be
death is where i should be

until then I put on my war paint
but my mascara is running
 the deadbeat horse
turns to look at me
and then carries on, laughing

Monday, September 17, 2018

The heyoka moves forward

(For Adrian)

What is night
You treat like the day
This is the heyoka way
Work your way backwards
Only to come to your end
faster than you can say what needs to be said
quicker than the heart has time to harden

I thought you would stay around
Long enough to see death drag those
Psuedo-Christians into the apocalypse
They prematurely ejaculate for
But you went unexpectedly
before you could see it to the end
This was your way
This was the only way

When I see tragedy
My first instinct is to laugh
To make the sorrowful happy
It is within me
Yet it is not up to me
And when i cry
I don't want others to see

The clown
Without expression
Is irrelevant
To his passion
Take my words
Anyway you want to
These are my own personal truths
This is my way
This is what I'm used to

As i try to move forward
While still looking back
The joker is willing
When no one wants to laugh

heyoka hey!
hey yo haha!
still waiting for the punchline
still hoping for a next time

Wednesday, February 07, 2018


I grew up mislabeled
Not a transexual
But traumatized like one
evil like a pentagram
i did not fit in
between the lions
and the lambs

if i am pagan
then i am a christian
either way
i am hated
by most religions
what's in my name?
In the dna?
That turned so many against me?

a sin to taint the family tree
truth can be a split-hooved thing

and so i did not honor
thy father and mother
i did not fit in
with all my wed-locked brothers

in the lion's den
the weakest one
does not survive the pride
my own father denounced me
long before he died

those venomous truths
still hiss at my heels
Those scaley thoughts
Make me unpeel
my name, my heritage
Born a bastard
I did not look like
All of the rest

And tho i am not satanic
I am deemed evil thru the aesthetic
From dog tooth and long nails
The christian ideology that kills the savage
Still prevails
--thru how my religious-raped family
Looks at me

And with the cutting of my mane
Went the dying innocent clasp
Of femininity
Neither him, nor her
Neither she, nor me

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Death to Hydra

it is eel-like
the reach of corporations
who worm their way thru
loophole after loophole
to take imminent domain
over the landscape
for the sake of some coal
or even black gold
and often we are told
It will be good for the nation

but this is a nation
of encroaching corporations
who have sky-scraped
through Mount Olympus
to control the laws that
govern us
and corrupt the ones who swore
to protect us

this land is no mans land
when it can seized by a court order
stolen by bureaucracy
by proxy of a bank

It was only a matter of time 
before a new hydra was born
out of the entrails of a dead plutocracy
whose oily tentacles
have now reached across our waters
across our reservations
selling a pipe dream
To an awakening nation

It is time to fight oil for water
It is time to fight oil with blood
for we have countless ancestors
fighting through us
fighting with us

let their voices slay
the many heads
of the black snake
let our words be the scythe
let our prayers be the fire
that cauterizes the wounds
of this greedy beast of an empire

Wednesday, May 25, 2016


It was soul heavy
generation crushing
these symbols
of false freedoms
that hang over us
as we stood in the Aryan shadow
of a new colossus

all the roads
lead to the same concrete idealogy
that the old gods
Always have to make way
For the new ones

And we--
the White Clay People
look up to the libertas
The mount rushmore
The barrier put in place
To divide and conquer
To make way for
For the systematic slaughter

their statues
eyes soulless and blank
how befitting
they made it in their god's image
and we carved into the stone
inevitable perishable hieroglyphs
that the sun would bleach out
that the rain would wash away
because we knew we'd all go back
into that shaken etch-a-sketch
that we call earth

we had no coliseums
no great pyramids
just the sinking mounds
that the giants left us
but does that imply our existence
is less meaningful?
put it on a pedestal

we don't care to be carbon-dated
Into theories that deny our place
here in the united states
With liberty and justice
For some

Old stones are crushed
Bones turned to cement
And plaster
But we did not mean
To be martyrs
Our own places of worship
Decimated to make way
For modern day culture

Because America was built in a day
so that only the whites can say
This is our land
And isn't it colossal
The joke made of my people
that we were somehow
Less worthy to hold dominion
Over these lands.

Let the decay come
And free us