Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Twenty-six
Summer 2011
| Home | Issue Twenty-six | Contents | Contributors | Review | Order | Archive | Submission | About Us | Contact Us | Previous | Next |
 
THE HORSE
Glenn R. Frantz

Horses, remove your luggage and get a concert; we shall shoulder this night, howsoever
unromantic. Here we may never be perspiringly understood. The wise horse, merely by
lifting its head, adds greatly to its elegance. Despite its busy pranks, the horse has been
so stung by the scruples of good taste, that shocked horses have quite managed to put the
universal sake of the colleges at the level of a graphic gastronomical expression.

It would never answer questions about itself. Little is known of its teeth, but it is said by
Reuters to have been a procession of confidence. The Minotaur lips represented by
kindness, resisted with the ineffable labyrinth of its present history.

It contrasts with a statue of the horse of scorn at the death of shorter transactions. So
great a horse among the most famous relics is always evaded. What horse is a white
figure? How was it to promenade, pray, to the city of the great copper red-riding-hood,
with the dailies lying wandering in Lisbon? They abhor the walled city.

Book under scaffolds, in the court of the object is actually the grass. That is, undoubtedly
the bloom is one-eyed and short-colored, and corseted arches cast their blue tint, looking
much like the moist, diverting residents of the great capital. The call of the equestrian
accumulation of day, remember.

About Glenn R. Frantz

| Home | Issue Twenty-six | Contents | Contributors | Review | Order | Archive | Submission | About Us | Contact Us | Previous | Next |