I know this anatomy of white chutzpah
The intractable whiteness of its steps
in the snow I am a white horse ranting
I move as whitely as one must
I am a resting horse
Thinking irregular thoughts
About what's sleeping
Under the white drifting
I have a heart a shadow a book
A shadowbook of heart questions
This is no experiment
Says the snowdrift in her white suit
Manifesto
In your future, he says,
all things will be heavy
with ornamentation.
Rain arrives from many directions.
I kiss and kiss the bride
and grow more wet,
more horse-like by the minute.
Within my slicker I conceal
a photograph of brown horses.
I use it to shim the short leg
on my poem-chair. A small array
of necessities, an acorn breeze:
I feel kingly, squirreling this
and that into the dark, irrelevant mud.
To read more poems by Michael Loughran, please click here to purchase JUBILAT 11
