Pluto sans Charon.

Hailled

Cut off my locks and watch them fall, I don't need them anymore. I love you more than I love me, so let my hair drop to my feet. The machines may take my place in wars and poetry, so why should I keep my strength bestowed upon me? Let us speak together in the tongue of a dead language, make love with the passion of a dead race. They did not see me sneak into this quarter, nor litter pemmican under an awning. It never tasted very good, anyway.
Instead I'll let my muscle waste, my skin waste, my skills waste. A face as pale as the moon my brothers would run under, my eyes now as bright as the stars they can see. Deer patties and soy buns can warm over a sacred fire. Smoke signals may tell when food is ready, but the blanket was forgotten.
Nike shoes protect our feet from the ground, the earth, the rich soil that feeds nature's trees, bushes, birds. No one may ever again walk a path and know that it was worn down by his father's father's father. Now it's been made by an Italian living down the street. He did a fine job fulfilling his dream of inheriting a job at the construction company. One death opened a spot, but took one in the ground. Thank the crew for making the flats flatter, easier on the legs and harder on the soul, to walk upon.
The potlatch is over, all our riches given away. I loved you so, treated you as family. Time shows that you still love us back, even as the flour stains our hands.

eemoeshuns

sometimes i'm filled with dread, wondering if one day i'll actually get to sing or play along to songs while sitting in the back of a pickup truck. can dreams be simple?