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
bring your wedding pemmican
to the carnevale
of souls.