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The Hoof Choice
Written: November 07, 2023
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Am I condoning a state of affluence?
In recent desultory decadence
Have I drawn a swan dive of choice?
Don't you hear your mom clamoring?
Don't you grasp her voice?
Backward between and beyond riverstone?
Holler—herald hidden phylum, hunt voice
of failed fulfillments
The hind hock hoof is hermitic.
With any accismus to anthropomorphize beasts
Winter wolf moon wakes up her litter
for sustenance, the man in me would slaughter
the wolf.
Tracks—that permeate darkness
their compulsory murder. Everyone needs
a meal
drifted and whistled from hair to heel,
things outside seem odd, ghostly, surreal.
Amid snow—hooves slowed to soak in
across the waves—why my soul seeped
a sailor has been seen dozing off
whilst the riverside weeps
trust—my footprints feature
fear—cynicism.
Copyright ©
Sotto Poet
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