Saturday, February 11, 2012


They will take Teloche's horse from him.
Soon he will be rooted in the earth
And he will forget his horseback ways.

At dawn Teloche is the captian of the wind,
He is a horseman at first light.

Teloche's horse devoures the earth,
In stride he takes all comers.

Hedge rows are of no consiquence
and his breath is sweet.

His flanks not pistons.
pistons, were but concieved by lesser men;
Men who would controle him by force,
Who would harness him to plough
Until they had invented his replacement.

When they take his horse from him,
Teloche will wander from his mind.
As the horse sweat drys to salt on his flanks
He will forget that all horses were his brothers.
And As he forgets,
Their shared blood will boil over
into a fevor and drive him mad.

   And in his madness
with out his herd,
with out his tribe,
No longer him self,
Consumed by his terror,
he will drink cold, clear water
And it will settle like iron in his bowels....
So that his bones will fall away from him.

He will stagger to a secluded place
and there lay down to die.
He will open the earth with his thrashing;
he will cut his limbs,
and dash his head upon the stones.

The cold of the earth will reach up to him,
and his last offering of warmth and blood
will go down into the earth before him.

With his last breath
Teloche will settle into the contours of the ground that holds him.
And abandon him self back to it-
                                                       The earth that he once consumed.

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