Here's a couple of poems that I wrote almost simultaneously
a long, long time ago.
They were a kind of affirmation poems for me, whatever
that means, at least I felt good about them
and I felt good about writing poetry.
And it seemed like I finally had a sense of purpose
after knocking around for a number of years.
This first one is called in my first hard springtime.
Those red men you offended were my brothers, town drinkers,
buckles pipe, star boy, Billy Fox were blood to Bison.
Albert heavy runner was never civic.
You are white and common.
Record trout and Willow Creek chose me to defy my horse,
Centaur, part Cayuse, was fast and mad and black.
Dammed in flat hat and buckskin, I rode the town
and called it mine.
A slow hot wind tumble dust against my door.
Fed and fair, you mocked my philosophic nose, my badger
hair.
I rode your deference in the hay and named it love and lasting
starve to visions, famous cronies
top mount chief for names to give respect
to Blackfeet streets.
I could deny them in my first hard springtime
but choose amazed to ride you down with hunger.