crystal
rimming shit hole
riding ponies
idiosyncratic fixations
shipwreck washed up
to sands upon the fetish
shore it’s a pony and
he loves you cultural
dust keeps flashing whispers
that life is a neon
miracle and all this
being down is indulgence
go buy a new car
go buy designer underpants
for your ten-year-old go buy
him tickets to the home
game go buy furniture
for your garage go buy
a riding lawnmower
it’s a pony and the poets
ride him hard remembering
the pony is not yet dried
like a photograph fresh
from the dark room where
the buzzards come to
drink the holy water
you drift so seductively
nimble and light and
broken resolve on nodding
terms with the crystal
walls of ordinary lists
of the names of friends
who hated ponies and
unannounced and hammering
deserted us in sermons
about graves inconsolable
with the kind of loss
you can’t turn your back
or walk away from the
anxious malcontents who
have never heard the pony scream