NO PROTECTION AGAINST
THIS HEARTBREAK
There is a kind of horse that bears
burdens, and a kind that runs swift.
I am now - somehow - both.
My own Russian riddle is enigma, and
an enigma without ending or solace.
My strange filigree is an offshoot -
the wayward branch, grown crooked.
No protection, non, exists as I limp
back into this broken-heart easel.
once more to paint in my place.
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