My writer’s mind is busy, bursting.
Emotions trample like wild ponies through it.
I ask them to stop and graze awhile.
They look in my direction and whiney a good laugh.
Those damn wild horses and their untethered freedom.
I can corral them up momentarily,
lay out a mountain meadow of spring grass for their feeding.
Swoon them like Dorothy in
a poppy field… for a minute.
Something spooks their feral emotion: they rear up, buck themselves into a mad gallop
across the prairie of my sensations. I am blinded by the shrapnel of dirt and stone.
I am suffocated by the powdered clouded of air that is their wake.
I try to fling my body on a stallion’s back in hopes of clinging to his whip of mane
as he bullets across my prairie. My tumble to earth slams me into rock and scrub:
Scrapes my flesh raw, brakes my heart-scape, wounds my want and desire,
splays me out, hurt and breathless.
I take a blue sky inhale and let the sun fill me all up with new light.
I watch those wild beauties race away to the horizon.
I feel the last of their hooves pounding at my land.
missing the wild want
trembling still is my landscape
I cry them goodbye
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1 july 2011 > 12/21/3 > Hanged One/Universe/Empress
If it’s not working from one perspective, could you take another look?
Who are you not paying attention to that needs your attention?
What third party is getting in the way of your clarity?