A frostbite wind cuts across the field
\nSix horses gallop from one side to the other
\nAnd back. The wind does not relent.
\nSeek shelter horses for collapse is upon us.<\/p>\n
My main drive has weakened I have not eaten
\nMy food on the floor. What service is this?
\nIt is winter and the cold crosses riot within my harness and braces tighten.
\nA contract to count here and stop there. My food is not orange it is silver frozen dew.<\/p>\n
A metallic container is my vessel to a unlikely doom.
\nTravelling whilst trapped; a hijack of hooves and a late delivery of hay.
\nI career up the side. Trot my vocation. A lost dream in this nation.
\nThe ice pick in my back is a permanent end to what might have been.<\/p>\n
Blowing bubbles from my nose.
\nAn infectious calamity on my back.
\nThe ruin of all we have. Not the viruses we carry but a unhelpful destructive nature.
\nThe weather is in my mirror this time of year. Why the long face?<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
This poem was written with a pencil held taut in my anus.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A frostbite wind cuts across the field Six horses gallop from one side to the other And back. The wind does not relent. Seek shelter horses for collapse is upon us. My main drive has weakened I have not eaten My food on the floor. What service is this? It is winter and the cold … Continue reading Trump, Trotsky, and the horses<\/span>