In passable aloneness, the poison

“By volleys of kicks”

I hold this to the same reckoning, myself

“And seemed to have heard that the Romans had horses,” and the Spaniards, the sylphs

Mounted at top speeds, “side by side without bridle or saddle”

In fullest career

The Numidian men-at-arms, the yokels and faghags

One Turk in my power

“Some day we shall abandon the use of it”

The Massilians, Assyrians, and Greeks

Gascons, Flemings, Picards, the douchebag heels

And Greeks

“I drew blood from their horse and used it for food and drink,” salting it

The Tartars, the knuckleheads, the Muscovites and hipsters, all called my neighing a language “of conciliation and truce”

The exes unbridled, and breaking

One drop of mare’s milk fell on the mane, I licked it off with my tongue, terrible myth—

To be of the horses

On galloping rivers, it wasn’t ever

Like I said

And indifferent, to submit

The timber

Going

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