The crazed orbs of his time eroded pupils fashion war paint

His cuticles bleed from the tedious work of re-knitting the Coyote’s whimper

His eyes were pueblos that dampen into the cliff side

He sent a chill down the spine of the vapor sullen sky to help harvest goose bumps from the underside of the human spirit

His drumbeat gardens were teardrop irrigated ravines that ripened on the palms of callused-handed beat makers

The combustible mane of the glazed celestial cougar incubated his pagan sobs

He scribed parables from autumn leaf skeletons and mushroom lobes

His ghost dance visited the loam catacombs of the dead as their corpses rotted into rose petals

The silhouette of his opaque stallion bloomed on the crown of the buffalo throned hills

The spirit of his footprints saunter a powwowed hopscotch on the painted deserts

His herbs and mosses healed the exposed wound in heaven’s side as sunset bled over the sky’s torn flesh and was trailed by a starry scabbed dark

He wove the sycamore roots to the rivers and gave the mountains their buoyancy on the prairie seas

His prayers were footnotes peppering the wolf’s ensemble

He assembled his tepee on the lowland of the human anima

And exhaled the smoke from a pipe carved from the wind’s tongue

He hunted the white stag and skinned
its breast to costume the naked moon


"This will certify that the above work is completely original."
-Adam Ross