Watching Thunderheart for

Like the umpteenth time

Graham Greene, what a gift

Facts/Fictions/Fictions/Facts

I don’t know…parallels, like

Rings of the helix looping

The prezervation of the

American Dream

Mop-up this/sure as shit that

More people sick since

Columbus landed; from b4

Wounded Knee & Gnadenhutten

…’till muddy rainstorms to date

Like faces down, dead in the sand

No spirits rising here today

What’s buried there in th’ sand

Are your bad apples & yours & mine

Because we did nothing

Suppose there was nothing

We could do [but make films

& write songs, and write scores

…for films in lieu of writing songs]

& the Grandfathers,

They still Ghost Dance

& the Grandmothers,

They still fashion prayers

With openhanded bare hands

Such a sacred place we stand on

Just how many sacred places gone?

To the will of man

@ the point of a gun

                                                                                                    here

                                                                                   Nothing new † 

                                                                                     Under the sun