minature horses

the black glass eyes
of the taxidermied
minature brown horse
seem to see through me
soulful in an eternity
of sawdust repose
standing next to a sign
that reads ‘pistol pete’
a toy gun half buried
in a the rocks piled
carefully around the
tiny hooves forever
yearning to take
one last step but denied
by the madman in alaska
that still calls to check
on the little horse
adorably bridging the gap
to existential terror
watching me ask questions
about the mirrored statue
in the lobby of the
minature horse association
a surrealistic blend
of fantastic boredom and
nightmarish ends
and all i see is a herd
of tiny pegasi clopping
through the puffy clouds
as pistol pete screams
in his purgatorial stasis

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