The illegal people stand in front of the courthouse
As if to make their protest an act of art
But the Lancer at the Autry says otherwise;
It's a one-horse hitching post.
The lonely people at Happiness Donuts know
Not to look for love at Valentino's Pizza
Only breakfast at the Broken Yolk,
Which suffers the art of omelette too greenly
And of the two restaurants on top of the hill,
Only one isn't seared black with memory.
But the horse has a sense of humor
Here at rabbit kissing time, flapping
His gums to the indulgent sunset
That needs no words or laughter this evening
When a prankish fart to the face
Will suffice. But the night won't hold still
For nibbles, it moves us on soon enough
Through the High Horse Hills
To the moon on our bedroom wall,
The road like the ribbon at a crime scene
That asks only if we are doing
As it fades away, from the splendor
It conveyed, the thought of stillness,
Like before the mites bite.
