For days we mount white stallion,
going westward,
far from the black stone path
The beast pants,
but carry on
with fire in its eyes
New shoots down-trodden in the channel

I taste the straps on forerunners
deep beyond their dermis,
way pass the dark transgression
we obtained,
yet we hold this sin so dear;
a real peril to the end

I felt wind urging hoofs,
and heard the soil of a mother
calling from soles;
support for imperials
Mattocks pulled new soil
to conceal the cries

If philosophy changes,
there’ll be songs I’ll never sing,
but for now I’ll walk streets eastward,
and survey scuffles
while watching my reflections
on dark footprints

In hope the hoofs are hushed
I’ll lay me down
on fertile bed,
whence I will seep along common path
unto all taste buds
The earth will carry me,
as thick as blood