slitting throats

chadwick

i am a little pony at the thing
where wolves chase my hooves
in this pathetic dying cage
covered in moss & grime, piss & shit

i can’t run
the wolves can’t hunt me very well either
we are both starving
killing ourselves for water too
no rain filling the buckets or sky
the many farmers
blind and drunk
passed out beneath their tractors
or on top of
all of us beneath that whore on fire
nailed to a cross & thrown into that blistering sun up there

feeling asshole miserable
cloudless dry fucking bits of vacant towers
been for sale years now
no buyers
no sellers
no users
only death traders
one dusty ass bone plater for another
one broken picture frame for another piece of busted glass
one owl hasn’t had a view in decades
one fish hasn’t had a beautiful swim in centuries
one peacock has not displayed a treasured arrangement in a lengthy bit of time
confused to my thoughts of tortured time
the lone beagle empty at howling against the bare apple tree has nothing more

the wolves now shake the earth quakes
i believe our time is nearly upon us
buzzards have found the key
when they scream the rib cage is opened
we can escape somewhere somehow
but requires being eaten alive
bone thin begging for death's order through disorder
one single apple falls to the ground
one single thunderhead rolls in
a single drop rains down crying