Coyote by Peter Blue CloudCoyote running, running Coyote,
Sniffing the cyanide death trap of the game keeper’s cunning; forever it seems, running, the snap and pop and frozen, teeth grinning death. Coyote hide thrown over barbed wire fence, the vulture on post is judge and jury; stiff and dirty hide, how do you plead? Where’s the evidence, the witnesses, and what’s the charge? Hmmm, yes, I see: devoured an Angus bull, four heifers, a broke-to-saddle mustang, and a 1930 Ford pickup. How do you plead? Hell, how’d I get this bullshit job? I’m a vulture, I didn’t kill him, I only ate his eyes and picked his bones.Coyote trotting, vague shadow, trotting Coyote,
nudging our gentle sleep; forever it seems touching the fringes of dreaming. Coyote stealing first fire, a moon bark between sage and sand, obsidian claws clicking the count of unrecorded graves. Coyote, his shadow upon muted lives, medicine song bark and herbs he spreads to all directions. Coyote, your burden basket of upturned sky as you trot upon star paws.Coyote walking, walking Coyote,
the city’s streets are strewn with tattered lives, hollowed heart echoes resound painfully emptied. Coyote walking, sniffing in occasional boredom, here a lamppost, there a hydrant, someone’s leg, a quick jet of piss. Ignoring city dogs too peopled in their lust. Stopping to read scraps of paper, candy wrappers, banana skins, sticks, foil, cigarette butts; finding more truth in this miscellaneous mosaic than in any sacred tabloids cut to accommodate a shriveled mind.Coyote resting close-eyed
and backside to a university wall. Scholastic dreams hold little interference, a scrap of paper with embossed seal to fashion into tiny boats and set afloat. Legs twitch in sleep that would the mountains trot again.
Peter Blue Cloud
Elderberry Flute Song
