a touch of purple paints itself into the monochrome,
a ray of hope,
a sense of sanity,
a soft palm runs through the lilac labyrinth,
a horse on the horizon,
in my hand,
a hot-cross bun.

Jim was a man from the country
he rode horses around a big fun tree
the horses would buck, which was really bad luck
cause poor Jim cracked his coccyx abruptly!

and there was a steed from me
the horse is huge
like the moon
the moon is very similar

and here we are the moon
full moon
put forward
a great way

and here we went on the boulevards
on beautiful roads
and poetry to each other
read

how wonderful those moments were
how saturated they were
now this horse is gone
she disappeared

she went into space
she forgot me and this planet
she went to the stars
went to the ghosts of the night

03.07.18

Yes, it's seemingly a nonsensical rhetorical question, but, for that precise reason, it will illustrate a lesson, if you so desire to tag along for this short session.

Per Wikipedia, "The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. It is an odd-toed ungulate mammal belonging to the taxonomic family Equidae." Hmmm... I much prefer that the horse goes "Nay," eats hay, has a mane, and is ridden by cowboys, cowgirls, Indians, equestrians, knights, jockeys, conquistadors, Mongols, and all. Even better, just point a horse out or otherwise show a picture to a kid and they will never be mistaken again. Even the littlest ones will never be stumped when faced with a rhino, tiger, giraffe, camel, and such.

Admittedly, there is a worry that we could be fooled with that of a donkey or mule. How come no one has taken advantage of this?! What a scam to get us rich! "Duh doy," you say, cause we all know when we see a horse, so why would anyone try to trick us with an ***?! Well I ask you in turn, why does anyone try to trick us with good art versus bad, let alone art versus crap? How could anyone fall for that?!

Why can't unicorns be real
Why do parents play make-believe
So happy we were as children
Until a rusted locke was uncovered
Slowly anything from our stories we read
Never took us to our fanatasies ever again
now where did our one horned friends go
they were thrown down a bottomless pit
Since our minds would never again accept them as real
to this day it level us in sadness unbroken

Down at the prairie side
Does the old farmer ride
At the comfort of his home
On his chestnut horse he roam
At the stable near the shed
Colored oaken brownish red
Is the little horse that sleeps
In bushels of hay of heaps
Do not fret, little horse
For soon you’ll race with force
But at the time being
I hope you don’t mind seeing
Out the view of where you lie
The bigger horses run by.