A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
His bridle hung around the post. The sun and the leaves made spots come down; I looked close at him through the fence; The post was drab and he was brown. His nose was long and hard and still, And on his lip were specks like chalk. But once he opened up his eyes, And he began to talk. He didn’t talk out with his mouth; He didn’t talk with words or noise. The talk was there along his nose; It seemed and then it was. He said the day was hot and slow, And he said he didn’t like the flies; They made him have to shake his skin, And they got drowned in his eyes. He said that drab was just about The same as brown, but he was not A post, he said, to hold a fence. “I’m horse,” he said, “that’s what!” And then he shut his eyes again. As still as they had been before. He said for me to run along And not to bother him any more.
Stasis in darkness. Then the substanceless blue Pour of tor and distances. God’s lioness, How one we grow, Pivot of heels and knees! —The furrow Splits and passes, sister to The brown arc Of the neck I cannot catch, Nigger-eye Berries cast dark Hooks — Black sweet blood mouthfuls, Shadows. Something else Hauls me through … Read more