One-Horse Life

Tinker

The red dust encrusting the streets
of my one-horse life has long
held its place in my throat,
a choking grasp on words
of love, praise, even sorrow.
It binds my ankles to the earth
in its crippling confederacy
with gravity.
What I wouldn’t give to water
at desire’s spring,
untie my tangled snubbings,
loose a whoop and mount
my dream claybank mustang life,
racing away and leaping,
dark manes flying, over
hope-toppling potholes
peppering our way.
We’d ride west, reaching
for an ever-today,
leaving behind dusty dreams,
set on almost, but never quite,
touching the horizon.

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One thought on “One-Horse Life

  1. I love this poem and can certainly identify with it. I love the middle part especially, “What I wouldn’t give to water at desire’s spring,’ and “dark manes flying, over hope toppling potholes.” Perfect! I think there is something about crossing the 50 year mark that diminishes so much. There are days when I say I’d love to hop in a convertible and head off for Montana, to higher lands and purer vistas. 🙂 Hope you have a great Thanksgiving!

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