High Horse


Combing the smooth, snow white tail of a tall albino pony
A figure of chastity
I look into its eyes and struggle with my addictions.
It feels good when it’s tracking my veins
And running right through me
So fast it takes over my mind.
I depend on it to soothe me,
Like soup for my sore, tightened heart,
Like a wool sweater and socks
For my cold self-belief
Seeking snug plenty, curling up between my joints
When it smells like burning leaves
And seasoned monster flesh
When chills run up and down my arms.
Like invisible ants
And I feel homeless
Like the wind
Plucking the leaves for tissues
Only, they turn away gladly from their lofty homes in the hills
To offer comfort, falling gingerly to the wind’s feet
Ready at its beck and call.
For me there is no one
But the promise of whomever I choose.
The promise of everyone
And a guarantee of distraction.
You sketch for me a forest of evergreens
An emblem to trust that I can remake myself.
I can last forever.
And there’s a sudden burst of sun in the background.
The landscape comes off the page and into life.
We’re in it.
It momentarily lightens the shadows of our actuality
When it fills the rolling, unreasonable uprising
Between the earthy tones of my shelter
Aglow with pools of candle light
And the fluorescent rifts you create that I can’t stop hallucinating about.
You feed me white sticks,
Fill my lungs with smoke
—the only way I let you in—
And the taste of bones.
You’re my dream mood,
The flavor of rebellion,
And the first person to make me want to
Snap my pen in half making ink splatter every which way,
Prick myself with your thorns,
Dig my nails into my upholstered skin and scrape off the prettiness,
Climb down from my Ivory Tower,
Jump off my High Horse.
Away from everything . . . 
Including you.
Say whatever you want,
Say it all.
It doesn’t have to be coherent.
It never is when you open your mouth.
You’re all over the place
Thinking you’re servile enough for me to return.
I said I was struggling with my addictions,
Not that I was giving into them.