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Crazy Horse
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
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