the muffled sounds of
war drums beat inside
my head relentlessly
each morning as I
shower off the dirt of
life's previous encounters
some of which have
proven to be quite memorable
while others have fallen by
the wayside like all the
dead Indians we killed
year ago for no looking
like us, even though a sturdy
chance we gave them all
and now their burial shrouds
will be all the leaves that
rustle in their absence,
and we must really learn
to dance rather than listen.
January 9, 2016
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