Monday, May 16, 2011

if only one were a red indian

always prepared,
launched into the air on one's galloping horse,

a brief tremor over the trembling ground,



till one let go one's spurs for there were no spurs,

and threw away one's reins, for there were no reins,


and could barely make out the land in front of one opening out as smoothly mown heathland,

with horse's head and horse's neck already nowhere to be seen.

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