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41 Crazy Horse & Bondage The whip looped around the back of the chair he’s on his stomach anticipating the spark, gun-powder packed between vertebrae she’s clapping like they’re at a birthday party the handle of the whip smooth as the pony’s neck she never got Potlach the Indian word for exchange Crazy Horse’s grandmothers cut skin off their forearms for his sacred bundle in return he fasted & prayed crouched in a pit on the third day he saw spirit horses diving toward him & white riders who shook rain from their hair she pulls his chin back, wraps the whip around his throat he hasn’t been this scared since acting class where he was told to remember almost drowning unlike Crazy Horse he is no prophet she speaks calmly enough to start a riot he doesn’t pray no one prays for him relax she says & raises welts stereo speakers blast death metal more lights strange voices & it would be an interrogation giving in is seductive telling her where the money is hid she’s a material girl diamonds pearls she’s the duchess seated across in the stagecoach who lifted her skirt & slapped him when he looked he’s the double agent who’s in a jam next stop firebombed Dresden cracking the whip she resembles his father snapping his belt to show how it would hurt Crazy Horse knew the white man’s stinger the repeating rifle Crazy Horse was the last chief to enter the fort soldiers bound his wrists & paid another Oglala to stab him in the back lashed onto a rubber sheet he closes his eyes as she pisses a warm flow on his chest Crazy Horse was never photographed & in that sense 42 never captured her fingers gently massage his scars only one of them speaks English he pays her $300 every other week whipping him is like unbraiding his hair loosening the strands of his story ...

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