WALTZING
MORDANTLY
Break the chains, secure the free.
Opposites attract : the low dog is snarling
at the gateway, the singular postman walks
by, leaving a note and that's all. I cannot
blame the man for not finding out what
a canine incisor may feel like calf-high.
-
Once, a long, long day ago, I watched a
masked gunman riding the plains. He wore
a hood, like you never see in westerns, and
a long and weathered coat which nearly
covered his body - more like a riding
blanket than anything else. No Zorro
could have done it better. And then,
anyway, I wished to know so
many things more.
-
Who was this man, and where was
he headed? He rode into a storm,
how badly did that end up bothering
him? And, oh yes, what then of the
horse? Did anyone ever care, or
were they just beaten into fast
submission; the endless wild
horses harnessed, whipped
and thrown aside, just to
waltz like crazy over
hill and dale?
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