“A Horse with No Name”

Dewey Bunnell 1971

  I know that desert.
  I remember the signpost.
  I tethered my horse there.

  I got my bearings,
  that is my trade mark
  sticky-sticky life tape.

  Keeping the wood together.
  Keeping the faith.
  Lining up the holes.
  Wood worm eating

  up my life – splinters
  in the desert heat.
  Fractured from the mother
  of all suns.

  My horse kept me sane
  but I ran out water
  and food stuff.

  But I came back to
  find him and he had

  morphed into
  the wood and only

“A Horse with No Name”

  his head was visible.
  My horse had a name
  it was called inevitable.

  And I still feel the pain
  And I still feel the separation.
  So now I leave deserts alone.
  And stick to pavements.
  And ride on buses.

  It is safer that way.