~Spirit Bone by Sal Martinez
There it was,
in the breath of children of the red earth; in the hair black as Raven who fell feathers for flesh and laughter; in the heart for spirits to skip rocks through, Stream of Reverie, to teach the chosen ways of the doctor; in the feet that aided the trails for travelors to trade in old dust from dawn to dusk; in the mind blue as the sky with nimbus shapeshifters and Flickers gambling seeds; in the hands merged in the world of saline, salmon’s rainbow, and snail shell twirl clothed in symbols.
in the breath of children of the red earth; in the hair black as Raven who fell feathers for flesh and laughter; in the heart for spirits to skip rocks through, Stream of Reverie, to teach the chosen ways of the doctor; in the feet that aided the trails for travelors to trade in old dust from dawn to dusk; in the mind blue as the sky with nimbus shapeshifters and Flickers gambling seeds; in the hands merged in the world of saline, salmon’s rainbow, and snail shell twirl clothed in symbols.
There it was,
in the teachings of Turtle who bears marks on his back from own shot arrows into the noon sky, who died for the sin of a stubborn tempted boy who thought his back a shell, who was drowned by Resentment Tribe to bottoms of the Lake, then lived again, with the smile of Elders.
in the teachings of Turtle who bears marks on his back from own shot arrows into the noon sky, who died for the sin of a stubborn tempted boy who thought his back a shell, who was drowned by Resentment Tribe to bottoms of the Lake, then lived again, with the smile of Elders.
Now, it is in the eyes of Coyote who fashioned the world1,
who watches from top of the World Mountain, who clips unwanted toe nails to world’ soil which plant them-fungus-selves; enemies to diverse plethora of idiosyncratic arts, who echoes his astonished horror in voids of mechanical death wheels:
who watches from top of the World Mountain, who clips unwanted toe nails to world’ soil which plant them-fungus-selves; enemies to diverse plethora of idiosyncratic arts, who echoes his astonished horror in voids of mechanical death wheels:
Oh… shit.
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