The Christmas Indian

The Christmas Indian is coming

He has hitched his rattlesnakes to his sleigh:

One Spot, Twister, Stub Tail and the rest.

And they slide through the desert night.

Boys and girls know him,

Love him, fear him,

his songs, his tricks

his truths, his lies.

He knows them from the rocks of their hearts

to the minds of their souls;

knows their fears,

holds them inside.

He will give to them;

Take from them their thoughts and breaths.

He is kind/cruel.

He is coming.

The Unknown Way

Follow the Great Dog
Drink of the waters of Baljuna
Come of good company.
The moon is full south of Kherlan
and it walks its way to the steppes
to meet the sun.


And be at peace
at peace with the hills
that wind west
with the valleys that sink
beneath the edge of the earth
with all of the tents before you.


Enter them slowly.
A feast has been prepared
in each,
A song has been sung,
in each,
A scribe will offer you the pen of truth.

And what will you write?
And if you write
who will read it?
And if it is read
who will know?

It is in knowing
we find the seed of the mustard
that waits before the rain
that waits before the sun
that waits until the ground
has aged with a million deaths,
And then it knows.

Tuzigoot

“Going to Tuzigoot?”

Yes, I want its name.

“But there are many names.”

And I want to taste them all;

Eat frosted trees

Tell the foolish that Jesus is Lord

That there is diesel camping five miles ahead,

Breakfast awaits

And gods in the rear view mirror

Are closer than they appear.

I have seen the metal pipes stacked beside the road

And Krazy Kyote Tours,

Cheap today, cheap tomorrow, gets you there in half the time.

Have seen the deer ahead for 35 miles

Watching me, waiting

And the fabricated housing factory

Home.

Going to Tuzigoot?

No, I am there.