Brother Coyote



Sun Dogs Snarlin’ down from a bleached bone yellow sky

Fry the top of my head like bacon in a skillet made by Stetson

My brain is bubblin’ with sideways thinkin’, mirage things dance over rocks,

Hardpan, and creasote bush sway in the desert’s hot breath.


Where’s that spring my blistered feet used to know?

The civil engineers they come along and stole it up,

And tamed it, put in a pipe and took it all away.

Seems some new golf course needs a wet down


More than wild critters need a drink

Nothing civil about that to my way of thinkin’.

Brother Coyote, I see you’re as mad with the thirst as me

Here, old friend, I’ll pour us one last round


Poor payment for the songs you taught me in the night.

But it’s all I have to share, you sorry old son of a gun, you deserve far better.

The spring is gone, the range is going,

open space is gettin’ scarce these days.

Drink up, old dog, drink up to songs that thrill the night

The scent of greasewood on your skin


And prancing pups dancing under the shining silver moon.

We two are quite a sight, boy, you and me.

Well the sun dogs are finally movin’ west a bit,

They’ve cast some shade for us, I think

We may just last the night.


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~ by ravenjake on December 31, 2007.

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