in buckskin hide

through red rock canyons

he came on stolen mustang

bareback riding mesas, buttes

dried out washes

and in this wilderness silence

he left no lasting trace

but a wake of grasshopper flights

hoofmarks on silver grass plains

hunted buffalo bones

campfire spoken story tales

of creation, birth, human survival


now under barbed wire fences

he sneaks a peek at once

his land of riches

mostly under new ownership

largely mismanaged

railroaded and crisscrossed

with interstates, strip malls

gaudy neon diners

crumbling, decaying, sun beaten


for all the wrong reasons

preoccupied, never pausing to listen


voices call from the past

echoes caught on overlooks

rock strewn escarpments

scanning the distance

his hand shields his eyes

a false new wealth

of reservation compensations

cash dollar tourist casinos

trading post trinkets

a commercialised culture

his voice calls out for the sunset

one last time



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s