- Vol. 09
- Chapter 08
Clip Clop Oblivion
There are no horses here, no smooth
ryegrass shiny in the sunlight. There is no
soft here, only hard cuts of glass. Nothing
that makes air lives in this underground cavern
of neon, and yet, here are people still, assumed alive
with their black and white aesthetic, synthetic
shoes and bags, zippers and sunglasses, leaning
against light which could never glow green
without gas and sand.
There are no horses here,
perhaps a train will come instead or a tube on its track,
traveling through dark tunnels. Metal has its own echo, here.
Waiting is a bent back, a dangling jacket. There are no horses
here. In the distance, a horn cries out its warning: soon.