ALL THOSE DUMB HORSES
They seem always to be pulling, all those
dumb horses of Love. Do not they ever stop?
Will not they ever cease the tug? I myself grow
tired even; the need to resist, the strain to ignore.
I know and I realize the feel of what they're doing:
attempting to drag me over the rocky field, tear at
my skin, rip at my heart. All those dumb horses
of Love, never ceasing in their tug.
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