I.
The end below where you were reading
continues where brush strokes stroke
a horse of yellow halos... halos not attached
to anything ... should we not be bothered by things
of this century. Sometimes description makes me
not believe. That is best to go on.
Getting to endings. And I do love a punch.
But, they leave me nowhere particular.
This morning and the other mornings, where we all seem to begin,
don't want it either. So I could be left with nothing to say.
But this, this end below where you are reading
is for all the times we went for the gloss.
I don't want to say it.
II.
Okay, so I have a horse image...
and another horse someone wove of yarn
into a black figure. It's a horse and we hung it on a wall.
Somedays I see it, somedays I don't. There's a story
I want to tell about the day we found it, who wove it,
where they lived, how it got into the hands of the people
who (we have lots of stories about); who sold it.
Because sometimes it seems to me
stopping to describe the search...
well, it makes the horse stop.
III.
This is all because of sadness.
It's an ingrown thing. So,....
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