to where does my mind run,
at nine in the evening
with red eyes and red sun?
floating on breezes
it goes where i cannot.
head bobbing up and down
in agreement to sleep
i mumble words to call it back.
i can't chase something into time,
but still i call my horse until i am
and hope that it's not a mare.
i give one final bob
and,
spilling my drink
i catch up in dreams.
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