“Death Horse.” Booyah.
First, let’s set…the mood. Have the Death Horse experience. Picture the imagery. Death…riding…a horse. It’s eternal, timeless. It’d probably work on an album jacket.
Got it? Death on a horse? Can you see it, indeed, can you smell death, and horse? Good. Now you’re ready for the next stage of the journey.
Sadly, Kathy’s my fellow-author in the great literary circle that is the distinguished collegium of poets published in the International Library of Poetry. So my sister, I give you the reading your poem never received, because the International Library of Poetry really isn’t your first step toward appearing on page 37 of the New Yorker. If you’re lucky, you can appear on page 37 of the International Library of Poetry.
Are you finished with Phase 2 of your Death Horse journey? Good, good. Now, the B-side.
That…that is an AWESOME death horse. It’s actually kind of creeping me out. Except for the funny little pony-beads, I am utterly convinced of the unadulterated zombilousness of this horse. It took two steps out of the stable and keeled over with a thud. But you…well, you’ve read Death Horse, I know you have. You want to see what’s bursting, possibly oozing, from your imagination even as we speak. Here you go.
Horse, death. Except the horse is really life, except that it’s kind of rotting, because life is basically briefly arrested decay. Embrace the mystery. Then explain to me why Death is so hell-bent on escaping the giant eye in the background that he’s hit reentry speed? Oh Death, we have found your weakness, and it is a planet-sized eyeball. If we just had one of those, we would need not fear your sting.
Unfortunately, what with the burning up during reentry, Death got a little melty. Once he lands you can get him back into shape with a heat gun and maybe a little spackle. Poor Death.
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