Horses of Sticks

April 15th, 2017 by Magdalena Tabor

Image result for sunset canyon wild horses


Skies to the West are bleeding,

Toes gripping an Eastern shore,

The sea thrashes about the ankles,

And Heaven’s an open door.



But the danger lies in believing

We’re rooted to sandy soil.

Oh, the rush of a golden nugget

And snakes that don’t recoil.



Fading like Wrangler blue jeans,

Broken like boots that are scuffed,

A cowboy knows when he’s beaten

Calling the canyon’s bluff.



So gone are the days of Roy Rogers,

Tonto and Rin Tin Tin,

Galloping into the sunset

On horses of sticks and whim.

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