Midnight , the Mare

foggy 1

weathered saddlebags gorged with
jaundice bests of spit-polished
moonlight missives,

day-scream mare’s laboured
intensive spine sloped south
even further,

under plunger’s plumber aftershave,
set on flooding every crack
of flophouse home,

in pissing party peddled on
the soggy merits of its
phantom guest list,

basked harder in hazy hued
gratitude of dark-room bulb dim
from lampshade,  alone.

©Anthony Gorman 2019

image: https://pixabay.com/users/cocoparisienne-127419/

image: https://pixabay.com/users/sandybullock7-5974099/


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