the horse wouldn’t budge* BY: annabelle bonebrake As if to say, I am not your stairway your grace your executioner.
I am not the cross
and mercy
between your world
the exit route
at the heart of your fresh
running funk.
I am muscle
I am silence
I am like you.
With your desperate heel in my side, I don’t run.
Don Leonis, we bend to the wounds of this blushing gushing land
no forgiveness
no joy ride
no exit
on commands of cowardly men.
Do you taste it now?
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The salt is sadness.
How it accumulates,