it seemed so slow in coming yet
lickety-split when the time arrived
she left her past on the iowa side
of the most muddy missouri river
and struck out for parts unknown
or rather a land foreign for her

there are tracks in the wasteland
follow the imprint of a shaman
singer of songs in leather pants
raging against a sinister silence
sweeping down across the land
of the deafening din of indifference

she dances nude in badlands moonlight
she names her demons and slays them
she handles the snake of the shaman
and together they erect monuments
living testaments of risk and reward

with the early coming of the dawn she dresses
bids a fond farewell to the shaman and his snake
as she picks up the scent of her next adventure

she’s heard tell of a mad mountain man westerly
who spits starlight from his pen like zeus on fire
and it just so happens that she’s in the mood
for a mountain dance and a stellar epic fuck