Rattle secondary flint

my who who rattle bone, got me on the telephone, said you were my buffalo, in territory sold by whites and pulling mustard into fights, bombs a falling, flint stone drawling, southern belles accepted into secondary fancy dress shoe, down your shirt an ice reminder, take a better look behind her, nagging wheels on highway screaming 'how'd you know my knees were bleeding from the prayers i took for granted (not to mention trees we planted out along that same old road where scars from clearcut rodeo took down your pride like bowling raptors sodden with some oily chapters from this book we never published) get together for some breakfast, strike the stone 3 times across that other rock, it should ignite her memory, a place to hold and taste so carefully, mystic lips are kissing gentle cattleways all through the canyon, tears are falling filling channels with their salt and water, hands in hands return and shake percussive notes of gratitude, abundance, moderate inclusive goals for education, telling stories of this nation.