Ice. Air. Heads fall.
Red snow, half eaten
cows. Crawling horses. Ice. Air. Heads fall.
Red snow, half eaten
cows. Crawling horses.
No one can shoot
the little pig running
to and fro. He eats
ears and noses, exposed
feet and fingers. Crows
are everywhere. By spring
it’s only the bones of our ancestors.
Since the Indian Wars
the bones are on foreign shores
except in New York City
where Humpty Dumpty can’t
be put back together again
no matter how hard they’ve tried.