Wisdom and imagination fork at my feet,
twist around my ankles likes ropes and vines
cutting off blood flow, tearing me in two,
blocking off my vision of both truth and
that thing we call enlightenment.

When I look at a horse, I see bones and tissue.
a brown exterior protecting a precious interior
and, if I squint, maybe I’ll see a bit of symbolism
seeping out of the pores.

At times like these, I feel myself tied down between
two saplings demanding a choice between settlement
and annihilation

and through the discomfort, I refuse to heed their
warnings and instead let the vines tighten around
my feet and I wonder if they’ll need amputation
or God.