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