infinitesmially scaled
2017-03-17 6:38 p.m.

its saint patrick's day. my half brother who i hardly know will leave me a drunken voicemail about how we are irish. and i will not return his call because i'm an american.

you were born with the bones of a horse.
your cannon bone
is my canon.
your coffin bone
is my coffin.

you bedded down in my abdomen
flat cast for years
you went one eyed.

when i ride you, you can still see
virtually everything you once saw.
but you cannot see me riding above you.
you can still see a snake coiled in shale
but you cannot see me riding above you
and you never look up.

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