No tears for the Redman

The Redneck Sonnets X

No tears for the Redman. He must loose his
own, and shoulder it. Hä! If only the 
seraphs gave a splinter for them! There ain’t
a drop of blood, nothing, that can avenge.
Not one kutsk. 

Palinkiszk!—you say—My eyes are crimson 
with Missoula, we will bear this judgment, 
mouths full of beetroot. We will plow and field 
for l'un de ces plus petits…

Now give ears, for this was the code given
which was lost:

Parthinisk is a word which means a love
borne of necessity, the love which lives
in heat, which shatters itself against the 
Borealean wind, yet still is the 
love which combines against a serpent world. 

Kirshnaplisk is a word which means to chase 
one’s self up a mountain peak, to joy one’s 
self in frost-air, to let laughter peel through 
hov'ring ice slits, to have one’s mind surprised 
by mem'ry, far into the backroads of 
the mind, with a song, a hymn, which one is 
both surprised and pleased by, ultimately 
to find the summit empty of supply, 
and to return with relief.

Quotemisinusk means a mother fox, 
stalking snowbound prey, tasting it with eyes, 
seeing it with mouth, her sacred pleasure 
becomes knowing you, but really she's no
fox but an Mesanita, and potter 
besides, and you, her prey, the clay, and she 
molds you up, by smooth carving fills you with 
deeper potential, you are now a joy’s 
aquifer, a vase of spirit, 
and her desert den colder than the
Klondike. 

Horlundinsk is a word which means to pounce 
into the ripping key, to dive into 
the deep, to hold heroic breath, knife clenched
by teeth rows, jaw purpled, lungs are trembling
with—filling with—acid, yet with muscles
covenanting diver pushes on, sea
swelling around in sacramental blue, 
swimming in life, as it were, to retrieve
fickle clams beneath the powder sand. 

I found you—Parthinisk 
You loved me—Quotemisinusk
I left you—Kirshnaplisk
You found me—Horlundinsk

And our heat mixed into sweet ether…
Willing