So it is with horses, shades of grey
Matter get in the way, too much ambiguity
And they start thinking like a human.
Even the carrot stick the whirling dervish
Puts them through their paces with is black and white.
Unlike humans, anxiety is not their desired state
Tho like most humans they don't know they're anxious.
The foggy murk of the coast is not hinted at
Up here, though the crows scream how lucky we are
Even as the jets leisurely fill the blue sky here
With coal tar ash, to modify the weather &/or our minds.
It's for our benefit, like the relentless circling
We subject Brio to — there are things for us to know
And things to figure out and things to forget
About knowing — the circling would never end
As the debates where someone should be right or wrong
Before too long never cease, are never resolved
Because the exploration for knowledge never is
— Because you forgot you already know.
It is a distraction, all that gray matter sifting through fog:
Who is here to hurt me? How can I be saved?
How can I protect myself? What can I trust?
To ask these questions is to resist the pain
Instead of letting it show us how strong we are,
For we can endure all manner of impatience
In the quest for inner calm, like Brio, now,
Accepts the saddle without a thought,
No buck, no bronco, no fantasy of anything fear
Makes him want to be. He's a sovereign being,
As large as the rooster next door who torments the sky
To invite the sun in — for it rises inside.
The blotting white tornados in sundogged checkerboards
That someone on the outside lets go from a joystick
As if we are boll weevils is just another projection
Under the bowl, the planetarium of distraction
We still move anonymous and autonomous under,
Not paying attention, just like the horse has tuned out
The noise that would keep him shivering in every moment.
The dust from his roll, once it's shaken off, forgets itself.
