Fear of Horses
The dripping from their exophthalmic eyes—
the dough inside their hooves that gives like rot—
their size, their size, their size—
their coffin-bones, their envelopes of flies—
the kisses of their whickers, rank and hot—
the dripping from their exophthalmic eyes,
their pupils marbled over like disguise—
the twisting stirrup and the flimsy crop—
their size, their size, their size—
the man that strokes his rasp along the sides
of hooves and pokes the tender frogs apart,
their thrush-affected frogs, their rolling eyes—
the rigid, the relentless bit that slides
in through the velvet lips, and hurts the slot—
their sighs, their sighs, their sighs—
I don't like having them between my thighs—
I hate my lessons and I want to stop—
the dripping from their exophthalmic eyes—
their size, their size, their size—
This poem first appeared in the North American Review, Volume 303, #2