Galloping Words

Along the ridges of my mind
fantasy slips into a dark corral
to seize some spirited mare
stampede realities ground.

I know not what figure
rides the angry steed
nor caprice to stir her on
I will not grab her slashing neck
nor funnel her foul breath
The ride is death.

Strange that you who sired
my psychic seed
should use galloping words
to crush my second birth.

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