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November 18, 2024
"Mes de los Muertos"

Wild

By Steve Hood

Muscles pull tendons that move
leg bones running.
Hearts pound, hooves thunder,
nostrils snort steam.

Borrowed time in our pockets,
gas station fumes,
misfits all, we frack, slaughter
herds of midwest horses.

Run feral, rugged, dirty,
roam grassland plains.
Wait for no one, gallop
as fast as wind in summer.

Dog food and glue, ligaments
stretch, cut meat, green
money buys terror in the eyes
of the last stragglers.







Article © Steve Hood. All rights reserved.
Published on 2016-02-08
Image(s) are public domain.
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