Lament for Lakota

All day long i roam the city. all day long
i see the haggard homeless lakota.
they trudge through the alleys and
down the long railroad gravel.

Alleys fill every day with the the smell of
sweat and alcohol. the drunk homeless
wander and slump under trees and shadows.
but can i blame them? is there a better
place to sleep?

Because it is the season of economic fall,
the lakota homeless are the leaves on this
problem tree. they dry out and change color,
the brutal north wind of white man tosses and swirls
them on the broken concrete; only for capitalism
to trample them under foot.

Before, they owned the land. but "owned" doesn't do them justice.
they loved the land - the fed the land - the land fed them.
mother earth and father sky met and loved
their lakota children - their lakota children loved them.
they were one with the land --- the swaying prairie grass -
the dark thunderclouds roaming over the hills like the bison -
the sunlight glinting off the rive - the tower of the bear (not the devil).
the land was their soul: and we dump our filth on it everyday with
garbage exhaust buildings tourist traps highways and the edifice of white man.