Of Hill And Vice

… dreamer you are two, most dedicated precursor to speed

Cassady moans and groans for the ice, on some boxcar in Wyoming
you cannot own that, it is shiny and metal
you are Billie Holiday, spinning wheels slowly to escape
jaws and Tetons of road
buster and brawn of hill and vice

Iditarod struggler Mushman, your sun has not shown in two weeks
switchbacks for days through the darkness
threads of vapor trails reading the thoughts of the dog
miles above a latitude of even frost
taws and bending of wood rails along trails of white fleece
green and bending evergreen, you are

Happens that days go by, dodging days of nights,
purple skies in the west, now, always
wild squirrels refusing fresh green apples, the fools
you could be getting your full days worth of vitamin C
instead you squander on nuts, missing after two weeks of snow cover
go back to your hill, your chattering in the trees

Tiny dogs, you walk so fast and you are so small and the ground is so cold
you do not bark when Santa comes down the chimney
you wish you were a reindeer instead of small dog
nails nattering along the noggin of ice covering the sidewalk
dreamer you are two, most dedicated precursor to speed
tiny dogs, you grow old too

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