ride on a fallen trophy
Ride on a fallen trophy(what I saw at the time of a storm)
The storm enters in the roads of mankind
Just then. Just then I see the horse.
The pale rider. The rider is in odd
With the sinewy grace it yields.
A fallen beauty from trophy-room past.
Storm takes a stroll down the city.
Lanes and lame lives are rolling into one,
Just a rider with dirt in hair
A naked upper part with clotted earth.
The horse closes its eye to storm.
It blurs details of belly and hunger.
A blur is the scene of the horse
Galloping to take its rider beyond
Petty days of a mundane life.