Hidebound
These darkened bones
of half broken horses.
Arguing at a gallop
soon they became
drenched in lather.
Making their way
through a canyon,
in rapid summers.
Some without feed.
other ones blinded.
Desperate to invent,
newfangled cursing.
Favored by legends,
those read in braille.
Wax Fruit
Time and place measured
by the spin of a pinwheel.
Hoping one day,
for equal gains
of willful respect.
For passage entries,
from obscure bibles.
Looking further,
but not finding,
the soft contour
of a rolling eye.
I was seated at the table, had cake from a funeral,
I bit deep into fake fruit.