© Nolan Hatcher

                        Ask the wide horse

                        Why he has whimsy

                  Sprouting from his back

            As he enters the market,

                  Secure in his delusion.

                        The ridges he rides

                  Are stairways of dream,

It seems his hoofs have never been

      Able to realize a successful

                   Kiss with the earth.

            His jokes cease to exist

                  Upon their punctuation;

                        Still, he guffaws

            With no teeth in his gums,

And blankly downs a stolen pear.

            The market hears him fly,

      Smells his ride all the time,

            But does it even notice?

                        Ask the wide horse.

 RAUDELUNAS

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