'Me Time'
on the 
of Judgment

Saw a skeleton woman
wearing a Nike cap,
and I thought I was
the only one
who owned One,
so my personal wolf
went careening
down a hill of shale
and rolling stone.

Due to this unbearable
pain to sustain this vision
I bought a plastic container
of Valerian root
in a glazed glass
at the Fountainhead
Trading Post
because I couldn't
stop bleeding on
about why
sacred beings
slip down
the cascade.

Was it poor health care
at the age of eleven,
the speed of things,
the hard corner,
when the wolf
was telling us
to turn more softly?

Was it the three angels
who snored slightly
in the incubator
of history, two smiling,
the other, groaning
over the false report
on the death
of Mother Earth?

for the darkened
breath, mysterios
with no less of a talent,
led me to go around
spraying cans
of spray paint
to see if the newly disappeared
watchers were watching.

O, some still have that talent,
for charming smaller snakes
into deep despair, or,
climbing the highest mountain:

Tapping energy this way
is surely a theft
to restore sun
into decay, but our
stations of transition;
cold, cool, clear,
all swing at the point
of the same vortex,
from many reprimands,
from authorities wearing
big red hats, for vengeance,
for violence, for retribution,
leaving nothing: no fruit,
not even the Tree.

The birds
still sing,
either way.

~ Sedona, Arizona

artwork by the late Fritz Scholder


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