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Broken horses

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  • Broken horses


    Saddle the strong horses
    Buckled backs under studded leather
    Pick my boots up off the pavement
    Peel a face off outside of Pittsburgh
    Pull the fences down
    Burn the stables
    There’s a sun about to drown
    West of the gods and their many lost angels
    In an ocean born for islands
    Dog people snarl at its last growling breath
    Cities of the shores have become carnivorous
    They see no heaven or hell for broken horses
    Just a ball of fire to consume spoken promises
    And the taste of bitterness
    That would be my better guess

    After a drunken finale ride
    After midnight’s plunder
    After one’s own murder
    Bellies scrape the weed hidden concrete
    A young man, still a boy
    Gets wasted on the grass and talk of the east
    Listening to the night
    He hears the passenger’s last roadside song
    And he daydreams in the dark, imagining
    The mist hearkens to no one
    It comes and goes as it pleases
    Playing hide and seek with the sun
    Tonight she chooses to lay with you
    It won’t be long, May then June
    Near Kuskusky’s lush path
    The brave and soldier and broken horses
    Will all be dead, all to soon

    So let it be said
    I heard and saw where you soared to your end
    Over a gravel grave shoulder
    For you, in an instant life became much less complicated
    As for me, life began to dance wickedly
    Broken horses running wild out of order
    As you slept, some wept, I was spinning miles
    Awake, I dreamt, then and now and forever
    Listening, waiting for family smiles
    Passive insanity as your hummingbird motor left earth
    Defined outside of the imaginary lines
    As the ground absorbed your blood
    The eyes on the overpass faded unaware
    Driving for so much more to come

    The road will never share the difference
    Between hard luck and mercy

    Inhaling the fragrance of Crabapple blossoms
    And the pungency of your rotting corpse
    The intense mixture of the moment
    Forced my friends and I to run
    Passed broken horses
    Passed the damaged dream bridge of my second birth
    We ran to where the shaman sold copper
    Through the valley where the oil spilled
    And the dolphin swam black as the brush creek filled
    We bought copper for music and mystic
    Covered in plastic
    He sold it to us, cheep
    For the ceremony of graduation
    Bought for trance and meditation
    Brought to the green house on the side of the hill
    There we summoned the gods

    “O Gods so wanting and powerful
    So jealous and comical
    You know our hearts
    Hear our prayers
    Come fuck or heal us”

    Graciously they did all
    And we lived and died many more days and nights
    But not like you
    We didn’t somersault in blackness to kiss thorns
    We didn’t lay pressed, hidden in the pyre
    We didn’t drink from the piss cup of broken horses
    Dropped from yours and death’s black fingers
    We didn’t lay thirteen days in the shade beneath the crabapple
    No- we stayed sedated and sheltered
    We sought the wisdom of Orion
    The strength of Duke
    In the days where they were known to hide
    And the nights where they are seen to reside
    But our fathers dragged us down
    Down from starry rooftops
    Into the torrent streets
    Teaching us valuable lessons
    Gurgling blood and saliva and spitting teeth
    To exist like beaten champions
    The importance of lingering in a hypothetical past
    Making all the right choices
    Hiding from my own ghosts
    But letting you run wild in our minds
    You and your screaming engine
    The same as me
    The same as broken horse


  • #2
    This was long, I really enjoyed it the first time, going to re-read and see afresh what you were trying to show us. Thanks for sharing, for sure, The second. A delight to see what you can do.


    • #3
      There is so much to this, something to be proud of, a milestone marker perhaps? That it seems I know what you were talking about ... about all our lives, us reading you, reading you write to us as you're one of us. I enjoyed the "shooting star" feeling of abandonment you've conjured. Feeling so free.
      You did well with this, meaning I enjoyed it thoroughly, twice now

      Take care, and do the write thing.