Holy Mother bored at the Formica table
You have the broad wingspan of the turkey vulture
And some imagine you as the beautiful red tail hawk
Forgive them they are confused
Righteous one, my love jewel, smoothed river stone
Endless six-pack of Guinness, Fels Naphtha soap
Left dripping in the kitchen still wet
I have been scrubbed raw for my filthy and unclean ways
Bless Me

Holy Mother bored at the Formica Table
Bless those, who are born sacred with slanted eyes
Children of the 7th direction
Funny noses, flattened philtrum, innocent, they wander
And fail to comprehend the virtues and simple geography
They have be pickled in their First Medicine
Their bag of waters broke and 7,000 bottles of vodka
Spilled into the universe
Bless them and give them endless supplies
Of band aides, ace bandages, and glasses
Canes and Seeing Eye Dogs, a compass, maps
For they forever stumble through life
Seeking that which has cursed them
Whisper strong medicine in their ear- better late than never
For they are taken advantage of
Protect them

Holy Mother bored at the Formica Table
I have loved one who named me in secret
And love him still and hide it because
He is also enemy
Bless him; he works the strange magic
Making snakes ride with clouds, and gathers the waste
He feels the Skinwalkers seek him out
And tries in vain to be invisible
You Roadman-
Sing your protection songs for the consecutive nights
But do not have the frail take in the Peyote

Coyotes’ ass is by the watchtower
And I have been that sucker born a minute at a time
Heave me off the anthills I am one bead lost
And belong in no rattle
Make me a believer
But
Do not praise me
Do not be frightened
For I am knocked out in the gutter somewhere
Between Mina and Folsom
Completely hammered, handfuls of barbiturates
Still I stand, but hear me, I want to drift off at times
Leave you a note on the bedside
Crawling I am looking for you Trillium ovatum
Mescal, Cage Bloom, I navigate side winders to reach you
I am following the carefully laid trial,railroad tracks
The hot trickling semen, breast milk the rare honey
That leads to you, Prima Mobile, Necessary One

Holy Mother bored at the Formica Table
Guide us all back to the Way
Great one I see you always in the calyx
Fox in the chicken coup, the landslide
Your cold hand reaches out of the potholes muddy
You stop us in our tracks on our way to mischief
The wolves have come back in abundance
And complete the prophecies
You are found in the scrawl of our children’s hand made
Valentines, which we will keep forever
Dog-eared, you are the writings of Marquis de Sade hidden
Under everyone’s blankets
Suave lover you are the masturbation at midday
Sustenance when we think all is lost
The thick roux in the summer compost
You feed all living things
Help us now

Holy mother bored on the Formica table have a drink
My coffee is blessed with hangovers
Of the intertribal bickering
You cover me in heat
My address is 20 blankets and there is no passport
Don’t bother with Hudson Bay those days are long gone
Trade me into another genus

I seek you in the unmoving buds of the February cherry tree
Stolen
A storm is on its way
To blow it all away, sweet words – secrets
Bad uncle uncle likes this. Praise him, watch over him
In his yellow piss stained overalls
He keeps shiny coins, candy, dollar bills, and horsy rides
That knee of his leads straight to hell
Bless him, Bless his hard on
At the Family gathering

Bless those who have turned a blind eye
Bless those whose anger does not wane

Holy Mother bored at the Formica table
Lightening has gathered the Soldiers
Thunder brings us backwards
I enter and exit the impossible glittering lights of cities
They are foreign, bless me and bless my hair
Shiny that is indifferent to Ikto
Bless my whore legs, my skinned knees, and the spot
Where like a ridge to hell my collarbone points to my belly
To my secret longings
Bless all women who fear the warm orange glow
Of beautiful places
Where husbands meet perfectly manicured lovers
A solitary diamond in each ear, they laugh,
This is fun

Bless our sweat of prayer
Bless us for we are the father and mother, the wife
Sister and child
Our lodge pole spines have
Crumbled and erected themselves
We can rebuild the brick shithouse
Bless us we have become very hard

Holy mother bored at the Formica table
Here is the holy cup, tequila, red label
And sterno in a demitasse
Nyquil and Listerine in shots,
We are enclosed in the shed sniffing paint
We seek you out
And know that this is not the path to Empyrean

Bless the over burdened men
1234567 help them keep track of all things
They must not forget
Help women not blame him for it all, hold man in comfort
For they are tired in ways women cannot understand
Holy mother bored at the Formica table
Your psalms are on our bellies, written in all tongues
I find you, the arched branch in winter
You are the late apple, the last season
Forgotten fruit, my lucky charm my bad language at airports
I cuss you and praise you
My ritual
I want to forget
Remember you always