The Future is A Gift Horse

Whose mouth we must all look into
I can never remember what kismet means

But that is what I’d name the horse
Somehow the matter escalated, moment by moment 

Then I was here alive and speaking 
Like the falling star in a Miyazaki movie

That eats a child’s heart and grows into a talking flame – 
But wisdom is bad economics for a body

Sometimes I try to slow things down:
I walk along the beach; spot a piece of chalk;

Chuck it in the sea; the sea turns white – 
But when is cryptic good and when is it lazy?

I like a sentence with thick flanks to it, like a Pessoa line:
In order to understand, I destroyed myself

I walk along the beach; I find a bad thing so beautiful 
That now it’s a good thing

Twice in my life I’ve been placed in a medical coma
Teleported forward, one moment to the next

The room afterwards is always crammed to the tits with empathy 
Always afterwards I feel vindicated and ashamed

Literature is full of murky passages
But I like an open marble foyer to watch the action from:

The child crawling to shore in a barnacle three-piece
The horse in the waves swallowing miles of salt

It has a black-rimmed mouth, it is our letter O
As in: O God, I think we’ve been here before