Experimental mesocosm are being used at the Konza Prairie to simulate future climate conditions projected to
      occur in the Midwest, USA.


\\ I

want to eat your ass like the Saskatchewan snow
      Or acres of shrimp through a thoroughly Polished
Kodachrome
Killer-Whale fantasy


My Yukon beauty Queen, Pan-Americas\
                        Pan Ages
your catwalk survives as the struts of the Bering Straight

                                migrating between the Aleutians, outriggers of Atlantis
       your haversack printed with black dried blood cod
& mopokes
   Somewhre your re-incarnated hands are pouring tea
Like a Nippon screen receiving the stubborn grace of the stuccoed yew-claw


   The fineness of your wrists and their tonsure as you dished
     The biscuits and bearfat on blue tinplates- our flirting was mute horror
And exquisite
I guess I just accepted the universe was empty and you are in it

  Watching your ticklish red boot pump the gas on your brown
           Pontiac
That same wrist, tan, trying to coax             ignition
there was some electrical excitement but no spirits
Getting to the party, your daughter in the shade scraping the hides
 w/ the shells of cocked mussels; the cold-world is vascular with bubbles
                                          of sugar


'Well. You're bald like an Indian but you're a bit nervous.'

I got a moustache and talk Mexican like a Harry Dean Stanton
                [falcon bunches
           his tail, by bunching, I guess,
                                             his ass]

She's Shoshone- her possum and rice make your piss stink

Did you notice her disappear several times as you walked up the trail?

Whose explanation do you prefer
               The jackhammer or the cricket?
Auntie Elko's brought photos of the 'smog-o-the-wilderness' that's
                                  the visible realm,
  The slip-jaw jack-daw of the crow's tongue
Nudges forward like a hearse                  in Santa Ana traffic
 Or a peeking wooden toy of teutonic folklore


      I want to meet a shaman's shaman like Uncle
Joe Stalin in the trophy room of a dowager's hut
                    In the upplands of Lappland
A littleshrine midst the tusk, whale bone, amethyst dung, the hand spinning
                      Drum
     we had to work quickly before the cameras and film froze,
              the Northern Lights konked out & then
 the trudge on an empty stomach
                                                                   back to Manitoba