You can bring a horse to slaughter but you cannot thoughtful think.
The metaphors that wreathe your door pretend to care and kind
while farther from the nicely done your hands are full of wine.
Ethics boars charge through the stores and break what they can't buy.
Cries of why lead to surreal, the agony and spite. Canter halfway to 
your doom to English riding knight. Gutter stripes are zebra plights
when ditches dig the rain, as farro flies from grain to sea on bunker 
fueling ships. Can the mind settle in its location or must it emigrate 
from me to shineless me?

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