Dream Upon Dream

It was never this way

the times I watched

the horses fall

pencil thin legs

folded beneath

shiny black torsos

weight flattening

all resistance below

dust clouds

and debris

swirled in

dream upon

dream upon

dream this is

the hour carved

into the clock face

secured by flimsy

wires not porous stone

this is the hour

when our fancy mounts

the minds throne

create what you will

it is a good day

to die

Once familiar

with our station

I can no longer

signify its way

the realm betrays

all interest in art

so we huddle within

our wreckage

flotsam of ideas

jetsam of affections

pink blossoms

scatter on the path

returning to

the wounded world

its pain our own

its sorrow

lodges in

my throat

and then the horses

leap into flight

circling the corral

like gladiators

racing through

the Colosseum

they sharpen

their blades

tighten their nets

toss their gleaming

tridents in the air

and say

today will be

a good day to die

I awake and reach

for my journal

a sketch of

a dancing horse

its mane atwirl

kicks into my day

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