Chancing Apocalypse Midstride

A horse rests...licks a desert rose exposing

denture like teeth.

Slowing its voluptuous space to the courting

of flies.

Its Grecian black olive eyes poke their pits

to a pinpointing gleam.

A chancing apocalypse midstride...allots dust

the fire it so craves under the sun.

As it settles...the horse is dismounted, and

let loose--a disorienting beauty ensues.

As if nature could part wild ways...onward...

onward...where went the beast...where went

the man?

Konstantinos Mark