the horse had to cross three lines
it was past two when the semi hit
and it exploded

a head hurtling through the trees, tear
drop eyes glisten on leaves turned blood red;
the sun sets; the horse casts a shadow
long as a mountain; the forest is a panorama
running, running, running
shadows flicker along canyon walls; a
primitive sensation: my heart gallops

to run is to think, to think is to run,
fences are mind control, property is theft.
Modern Cowboys Round Up Wild Horses Driving a Jeep;
the horses are ground up and sold as fast food

a horse in the bedroom
a horse in the back room
a horse in the dark room
a horse in every room
there’s a horse in the kitchen
wearing an apron that says,
“Come and Get It!”

a disembodied eye is shackled to the floor
an iron chain a snake slipping through straw

above the factory—steam
brilliant white in frozen air
eddies and swirls, tracing the path of zephyrs
running, running, running.

Their manes flare tendrils of cloud
that cannot be brought down,
not by the greatest cowboy
ever known.

This flag of freedom.

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