Blood Dust
D-Press
Ellensburg 1988
Cover drawing by Luis Garcia
MEET
The old Indian said,
"We live on reservations."
These words are filled with reservations.
These words are filled with the silence
which is meat
for my thoughts.
BLOOD DUST
The cage of my bones,
the cage of my blood, "this light," he said,
"is not quite light
living as it does."
The wind repeats its empty message.
Silent night,
Miles and miles are—
and miles have been
a friend,
blood dust,
a stick which tries to beat itself to death.
Blood dust
that night was oak leaves
seeming to pierce
the center of a circle.
Corn on the cob,
corn on the cob,
that night its webs
filled my room.
Where the night was
he sometimes thinks he is,
right now—
blood dust,
a man inside
a bowl
at midnight.
RED LIGHT, BLUE LIGHT
Do you want it back?
Do you, do you
want it
back?
"No, I want it
where it's at.
I want it
where's at."
BERYL ON THE ROCKS
I like the rocks.
I like everything
on the rocks.
I like hard rock.
I like Rachmaninoff.
I've had it straight.
I've had it mixed.
What I really want
is having it on the rocks
beneath the stars.
THE HOLE
On hands and knees
crawling back
toward the hole,
trying to find
mother, father, sisters, brothers,
and all the others—
trying to call,
call them home.
