COYOTE BLOOD
poetry, art, mistakes, music, love, visions and everything...
Maypole
the mailcoat lets the halter of the arm
hang on my hawk-trodden hawk-gallows;
I know how to make the pin-string
of the shield-tormentor ride the gallows
of the spear-storm;
The feeder of the battle-hawk
enjoys the greater praise.
Newer Post
Older Post
Home