Earring Poem by chris bowen

the indian, so burnt by sun and the mare he rode in on.the timucuan man, made of rubber and able to withstand rocks.he cocks his arm, a long spear inside his grip.he could sink a ship with just one slip of his lip.do he quip in the morning with his children or do he almost kill them? they cant fasten them in hate and hell more than this fella, who fell twelve before he relaxed and died, right by robinsons jewelry current spot.how many articfacts did he drop?