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The Summer I Attended a Native American Literature Course
And My Brother Lost a Wife

Outside, kicking butts and dragging a toe,
The gravel turned over and over.
Inside under Muzac
And white linoleum intermittently
Separated by blue squares,
The bathroom key was off its hook.

And I don't know any poetry,
But the wind hums
Painting sinuses
With blue pollen
And sacrifices of deer
And frogs that bury themselves under mud,
Simplicity always had designs on you.

And ahyee, brother
With greasy hair and battery half lifes
Bandana perfumed with body's oils
Ducktape and stiff
Unbleached napkins
From Chevron john
Wrapped around stub where
Wedding band

And outside looking at the pumps
As unleaded fumes burn nostril hairs,
I want to see a buffalo, a white buffalo,
that redman burning bush.

Popping the trunk,
Pushing aside trash, tarps, shovels, lye,
And a digit-
All blood gone out of it.

Brother, this is the last time I will help you.

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