hooked in H

oh, Jesus Christ, they say, another poem
about horse racing!
horses, horses, horses, how can you get
anything out of it?
there’s no depth to that sort of thing,
don’t you see?

I know, I say, any damn fool can
play the horses.

then why do you do it?

what do you want me to do, sit around my
room all day and paint with acrylics?

why don’t you go to a movie, an art museum,
why don’t you go to the observatory?

ah, shit…

you’re so tough! but it’s all an act!
there are real things in life, things of
value! how long has it been since you’ve
seen the ocean?

they dump shit in there, don’t you

and I guess the horses don’t shit?

oh, they shit, all right, I’ve seen them
but their shit is different
it’s kind of flat and yellow
full of straw
it doesn’t stink like ours….

in other words, you prefer horseshit
to humans?

humans are treacherous, horseshit is
is just horseshit.

you can argue more for nothing than any human
I’ve seen.


oh, Jesus Christ, they say.