the truth of
the bleeding horse is this

there is no bleeding horse

there is your sister with her
boyfriend’s hands tight around her throat

there are the children


what she tells you is
[i]i love him[/i]

this and that he has
disappeared again

that a woman calls at least
three times a day asking for him

what she tells you is familiar
and it tastes of pain


and this is not the age of saints

the addicts won’t be saved
or even remembered
and she tells you [i]i love him[/i]

tells you she has seen the bleeding horse
in the first light of day
stumbling blind towards the interstate

tells you nothing but asks for money


the same story repeated until
the windows shatter

the hand of god
clenched into an arthritic fist
the room cold where the moon
spills across the floor and
she is saying some thing that
is being swallowed by the wind

she is home and
she is bleeding and there
are the children

they are saying your name
but you are gone

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