epigram

This is a poem about a horse that got tired.
Poor. Old. Tired. Horse.
I want to go home.
I want you to go home.
This is a poem which tells the story,
which is the story.
I don't know.

from "Please" by Robert Creeley

poem

Fuck the cowards with their flimsy guitars but
save the horses they ride on.

andalusia

after Lorca

Don't bring oranges.

Bring feathers from

an iron palace.

Where bones of blood

stagger under a full moon,

forget your hunger.

Fetch straw from

the lung of your hollow purse,

where stones ring like bells.

Set out on your

broken horse

with its wings of cold fire,

and your mouth

seeking

cool green fruit.

Let there be no mention

of your orange

assassins.