From perilous dreams, the horse king
rose, so sure he’d be remembered
in the daylight.
He declared that everything was
indeterminate, unnecessary or incomplete,
and with batteries, many A’s,
he asserted iron-clad existence.
The once and never horse, ambivalence
on a bike, mentioned in a margin
for his bravery, and in a footnote,
impartially decapitated by a jury
of his peers.
the horse and I
Strangers were my scenery, the flitter
of my world. Off the powdery track,
I followed string connecting saplings
and wound round ring-barked trees,
an incidental isostatic tour.
Every creature was held entranced
by the horse king’s royal harness.
Fish leapt from the rivers to flounder on his shore,
and in his hair, the sparrows wove their nests,
their guano piled high upon his head.
At night, the king slept soundly,
resting on the skeletons of his enemies,
while a kangaroo and scrawny emu
stood guard beside his bed.
By day, he wore a fake mustache and
focused conversation on his decibels.
He called nothing into question,
into answer—even less,
and he never knew my name.
While I did the dishes,
Athena welded up a nameless horse,
and when she pressed a tiny lever,
her equine miniature pranced across the table.
Look at you, all incoherent haze
and frozen vegetables flambé.
Let some drift away,
there’ll still be plenty left.
Are you talking to me, or
do you mean the horse?
Now the horse king’s gone, lost with
all the kings and horses.
But I remember winter thoughts and gasoline,
when radios cracked the air like glass,
when the sun was in the lightning,
and he was somewhere else.
- the horse king is a tossed salad of past friends and not friends, and me
- Commonwealth Coat of Arms
artwork burnt dreams (part above)