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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 Was. 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- White, All blood gone out of it. Brother, this is the last time I will help you.
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