ANOTHER NOVEMBER

RAIN WETS, THE WIND WHIPS,
LEAVES FALL ON MY MANE
OF CHESTNUT, MY WHITE TAIL,
WAITING. A HOOFED TESTAMENT
TO INHUMANENESS, MAN-MADE
SELF-ABSORPTION, SHUTTERING
AND SHUNTING A FRIENDLY
HORSE, OPEN TO REAL POLITIK,
PETS, PATS, REMEMBRANCES
THAT I LIVE, AS WEEDS GROW
IN MY PEN AND I CHOMP ON THEM.
MY DAILY PLIGHT IS SOLITUDE.
THERE IS BUT ONE SADNESS,
NOT EVEN TO BE NOTICED.