we spoke in german, most of the evening.
after the dinner, with too much wine
i vomited silently into a toilet
possessing more decor than I had decorum.
behind my bent form,
rolling twenties Jazz spilled out of the wall.
Such is a price one pays for Society.
I imagined the dance of the dead,
with the carved bones of the Buffalo
clacking out the requiem for a thousand cultures,
while I wished for Wounded Knee,
while I wished for the executioner’s love.