it is he who tells the story
the story of the bear and kai-oat-ee
taking the grain at harvest time.
All of our friends came
to the fireside,
see, and they all gathered round,
told me how much they loved your ways
they loved the way your words made magic
at twilight, among the searchlights
and the birthday of your city.
I don't drink beer to escape
but to get it up, get the story up
get the grasses up and active, working.
If my hair were sage brush
damn, would it smell good,
and men would love me, and women would envy,
want my wampum bracelets and belts.
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