Uncertain Decisions

All night long, around the house, in the reaped field, the big

black invisible horses graze; horses tied by their leg; their steps

on the dry haystacks is the only thing alive in the world.

And high up that deep, concave moon shines and warms up

         futility.

And naturally, he said, the sense of beauty is always

interweaved with that familiar, forgotten sense of the futile.

If someone knocks at the door, be careful, don’t open. Let them

break it down. Why should we still fool ourselves? No, no

        don’t open.

They might be bringing that wooden horse — you know.

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