The stampede by all those four horses that
We’re turned from clay before we arrived
To create wax slaves of friends and lovers
Memorandum laying Scattered along floor.
Could you see where the embers lay falling to
Remind you of success and previous failures
to spark the fire beneath burnished roof tiles
propped to see the blacksmith raining Fluers
on the earths changing Equinox
Leading me to see the mirrored horns
it still can’t escape with key it stole.
To the high road amongst statues of eight raised
in testament to scrap metal theft
and commodity’s binned did the paper magnet
climb Back from the first rom it couldn’t
delete causal voyeurism of repeat
Offenders that officials stamped
And cleared having seen the fifty
States its leaving behind.