sunlight pours golden syrup on
one little, two, three little indians
with camera shy sensitive tremble
all wrist tied and drug into Rome

through a flower pot street parade
encierro tormented taunted tearing
the ansel adams of american west
our shuttering souls to that arena

the dark horse of your voice

Look who's talking in sign language synonyms.
Some Helen Keller soliloquist,
miming-- don't look at me,
in that tone of voice.

Her acapella ballad without a beat;
asking why people
like Crazy Horse are heroes,
and Custer are not.

It must have been like
monster trucks at an indoor rally.
There was nothing left but gristle on bones,
and the stench of three-day-old meat.

E.Haulfield

thank you Chras4