poetry by Alex White

imageA few poems by Nlaka’pamux writer/vagabond Alex White. This guy’s like the Indian Bukowski!

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Indians

red skin, not the burnt red
but the rich red

colored with love’s kisses

an unbeaten honor

masking the earth’s
unseen greats

only match the trees’
many green simple leaves

nothing special



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(Untitled)

I’m floating through the apple orchards so much moisture  
as the air leaves my lungs
  vapor accumulates on the peach fuzz
  and my unusually long eye lashes
    mist lifting off the muddy soil
    the muddy soil speckled with the unfinished decaying bodies of last   years fruit
                       
    my pupils adjust with the lights fade
      the thin dark bark
      of the lifeless trees
      cast dark shadows
        the kind of shadows found in the middle of the ocean
        with the water that has never seen land
        bubbling churning every so often     breaking silence with a gurgle


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Alex White, Nlaka’pamux

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