There is American Justice

John Smith aka Ga-Be-Nah-Gwey-Wence

I’m older than the rocks and my flesh
peels off at the slightest hint
of spring- this rotten colored blanket
on horseback of mold, of bloated wet underbelly-

I’m as tired as the wind that the flesh peels
off the tips of buttes; off Montana, off the Dakotas
Into the pristine waters I float through Minnesota the
home to the Mall of the Americas and the water

park to end all water parks – this is sluicing, this is
sloughing, I am a creek-er, a shaker, a translucent
image maker that makes these shimmering pictures of a
Rock Creek hillbilly, a New York Jew, a California surfer girl.

I am old and sliding, slipping that which the flesh
peels off, a skeleton man in high mountain swift – tearing
endometrium, menstruation, a dog that shakes the fleas
from its coat.

I will outlive you all.

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