twist

 

this horse

is running away

in fear

from this tornado,

which whips

the wind

with joy-kill

through its fingers,

 

eating debris

and trees,

telephone poles

and houses,

this horse

has never

seen a tornado

has never ran

after a horse

this tornado,

 

it runs like

the betting

horse tornado

at the racetrack,

that crashed

five laps in,

where the odds

were fifty to one,

its legs gave out

from under,

the body tumbled,

this horse

broke its neck

against a fence,

after a heart attack

now good

as dog meat

 

this finger

of God,

moves crosswise

over the dust-

earth chalkboard

erasing what

bemuses him,

 

swallowing

like a snake

and not caring

what it digests,

this horse

that runs in fear

with nowhere to go,

this torn

ado moves

as if it knows

life is short

fearful

and dreadful.

 

a farmer

comes fast behind

not interested

in his horse

running in circles,

racing his car

of two hundred

and ten horses

escaping

from the engine,

leaving both

in a cloud.