Trunks and Thunder

Trunks and Thunder

Horses in your pocket.

Ferrari in your mouth.

You go into the night looking for yourself.

You slide among their legs, like trees.

You cling to them.


You hold yourself steady among their branches.

They shade your vision of what’s real.

Of who you are.


But you love the shade, hidden in shadow from harsh reality.

You adore the winds of change.

But underneath, you are quite invoked with envy.

Envy for their bravery, those trees cemented by roots; connection.

You fear coming out from their shelter, fear the open plains

So wide and sweeping.


Who will you be without their structure to hold you?

Who are you without their leaves to cover you up?


You are the night, roaming like a drape of ecstasy and adventure

Leaving in a sudden gasp, disappearing with the dawn.

You are the pain of the axe to their supple trunks

Bleeding; buried beneath the autumnal skies.

You are the fox, hiding in their hollows and their warm damp earth

Hiding from the winter storms that seek to strengthen you.


Where do you go when you’re not among them?

How far do you travel to feign your indifference?


I watch their trunks bend and swing

I watch your words like wind that shakes them.

Like thunder from your horses hooves,

Crashing and bashing their minds among them.


How could you not feel sorrow or sympathy

For the keepers of your shelter?

How could you not, but perhaps it’s true.

That their sorrows are just more trunks to sift through.



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