Short Swayback Poems

My yard thrives in wildness.
Patches of dirt- cowlicks of grass.
Every shade of unknown flowers.
My yard is a swayback horse.
Amidst rows of sequined asses
That live just up the hill.

Their lawns sprayed slick with poisonous perfection.
Rarely, they give me a dismissive wave, but never see them smile.
My yard thrives in wildness, and they hate me for it....

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Again, death swirls its black finger 
around the aura of pristine ponds.
Now sprouting the stoutest weeds...
where sleepy lilies and emerald songs used to breathe.
Where souls once rested so naturally.

Again, death swirls its black finger.
Leaving me slightly paler than a happy life.
I'm never quite as fleet as death,
(a party balloon popped by a dying cigarette... 
the darkest swayback horse at best)....

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