Poetry · Writing

Damaged

Highway flying ninety-

five, stallions in the sky.

Wings of an angel

 

took the wheel. Didn’t

ask what kind she was.

Dropped dialogue, Dionysus

 

watched the Stallion

fly his last race. Shotgun

rested at the mercy

 

of the gods touch.

He looked through me,

the lights carried his eyes.

 

They met me at the barrel

of the tree. Covered in life,

tears in my eyes,

if only they were mine.

 

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