the prairie wind

this dust
the molecules of mullosk and humming bird feathers, and my brother's knee scuff at seven, and the dog who roamed with the Osage, that had three litters.

spit up on this wind that blows forever in prairy towns.

shifted endless, traveling sales circus, magic shows promising CEO jobs in lucrative industries like:
Life

spitting up all over, fondled into the air that blows forever-never, forever.

an atomic history film, pieced together, rapturous, always sandwiched with a bit of moisture on your lip in the morning, watched and washed away.

splitting up on a ricocheting rock,
this second divided, like infinity's offspring, sown for lovers, forever seeking the prairie winds.

Poem on Being a noun

an exotic flowerer, vibrant bloomer, forest dweller undefined, absorbing carbon dioxide, feeding surrounding muddied existers, a wild child plant, a vision.

but you saw it, named it, made it something you owned, like a pet.  a horticulturist nurturing what you lacked, loved in your imagination, a biome without life.

life grows on fertilizers, dead things, remnants of made up histories.  dying is living, pride grasper, being a noun is a lie.

egos, trapped

busied bye, existing cell or door,
rasping tuning, like knives, thieves saying,
praying and salivating robbers.

our vision rests, a steamy stain, wiping my glasses, aged dankness, parting glances.
laying wasted land, resurrecting words, like watering wilting plants.

desire stoppers, winning spinning tops, motion wheels, robbing again, bargaining buyers, cheaply heaping, wills broken,
festooned, lived lifers of egos, trapped.

we ring to hear our echoing

spit dripper, spiting us, flowering child littering the prairie,
peek-a-boo keeper, like collecting ants and antigens,
tubes of glass, some filled, some begging for moisture,
some pan-handling for a cure to the cure.

sitting cross-legged, floating on genies rags, skimming the yoke,
light up, the sky up, it's tied up, all fried up.

hands laid across hands, sucker punching symbols, bloodied prints of real,
vibrating! vibrating! vibrating! vibrating! vibrating!
crossed-off diminuendo, many voices, tongues held with bailing wire.

we ring to hear our echoing.