For A Temple Horse

the fewtch

In the temple there
is a horse on two
legs dancing and
snapping at the water
smell of the pool.
Her hooves knock
revolvers.

Temple walls are red
blue and white painted
in the seventies and
Bono is asking us to
dance with him,
curling his fingers toward
himself and twisting his
leathery a*s moving
backwards to the gold.

The temple horse is
dark and her forelegs
lash out as if the room
were filled with computers
green and dynamic.

Where is the epoxy they
used to glue Tut's beard back?
And what has happened to
all us riders?

Author's Note

I've recently begun writing a screenplay, therefore my poetry is sort of dry heaving. Debris from the last years I'm spitting on grass. Not sure what any of it means of late, and it's always meant something in the past. It's funny what happens to writing of one kind when you focus on writing of another. Thanks for the reads.

Reviews

[Baby Ricochet]

I'd imagine writing a screen play takes up all of one's creative energy. I'm WAY to ADD for writing something like that