190. carnevale of souls

I felt the death of my friend the death of a stallion a dried cadaver.

we lunge at time & time bites back sequesters the years and gives us only laughter lines and aches for our pains.

you felt the death of your friend the death of the mare another dried cadaver in the sun.

we lunge at life yet bones still crumble whilst a tune plays somewhere carried on the breeze – an aria, maybe.

and the hearts of our friends and mounts are dry & dusty still.

so come, cadavers of horses and men come bring your wedding pemmican to the carnevale of souls.