"With their heads held high" / Where are the red lines on the cave wall? (Smashing glass ceiling with Tomahawk)

Leaped at the caribou.

My son looked at the caribou.

The kangaroo leaped on the

fruit tree. I am a white

man and my children

are hungry

which is like paradise.

The doll is sleeping.

It lay down to creep into

the plate.

It was clean and flying.

II

Where you...the axes

are. Why is this home so

hard. So much

like the sent over the

courses below the home

having a porch.

Felt it on my gate in the place

where caribous jumped

over. Where geese sons

and pouches of daughters look at

me and say "I'm hungry

daddy."

III

Not alone in the

gastrous desert. We are looking

at the caribous out in the water

swimming around. We

want to go in the ocean

along the dunes.

Where do we like?

  Like little lice in the sand

we look into a fruit expanse.

Oh the sky is so cold.

We run into the water.

Lice in heaven.

IV

My heel. Ten o'clock the class.

Underwater fish

brush by us. Oh leg

not reaching!

The show is stopping

at the sky to drive in the

truck. Tell us where to 

stop and eat. And

drink which comes to us out

in the sand is

                   at a star.

My pants are damp.

Is tonight treating us

but not reaching through the window.

V

Where is that bug going?

Why are your hips

rounded as the sand?

What is jewelry?

Baby sleeps. Sleeping on

the cliff is dangerous.

The television of all voice is

way far behind.

Do we flow nothing?

Where did you follow that bug

to?

  See quick......is flying.

VI

Caribou, what have I

done? See how her

heart moves like a little

bug......under my thumb.

Throw me deeply.

I am the floes.

Ho ho ho caribou,

light brown and wetness

caribou. I stink and

I know it.

"Screw you!...you're right."

VII
Everyone has seen us out

with the caribou but

no one has seen us out in 

the car. You passed

beyond us.

We saw your knees 

but the other night we

couldn't call you.

You were more far than a

widow feeling you.

Nothing has been terrible.

We are the people who have

been running with

animals.

More than when we run?

VIII

X

Like a flower, little light, you open,

and we make believe

we die. We die all around 

you like a snake in a

well and we come up out

of the warm well and

are born again out of dry

mammas, nourishing mammas, always

holding you as I

love you and am

revived inside you, but

die in you and am

never born again in

the same place; never 

stop!