There was a Man.
He met all of his first fears on the merry-go-round.
Gaily obscene painted horses. Hippocampi. Griffons. Daemons.
Liers. Procrastinators. Teachers. Theives. Murderes. Rapists. Pimps. Whores. Dragons. And
those who chase them.
Medea's well. Sanguinius's love. The Furnaces of Gehenna.
Sycophants. Buddas. Kiljoys. Killsad. Pills and pepper mills.
Saint Nick's favorite knife. Malevolent beggers. Kindly misers.
Clocks. Clocks. And Clocks.
"My eye's can't be focused!" Cries the Man.
The Painted horse stares in madness.
Eyes frozen forever rolling.
Fleeing a horror that it cannot escape nor be ensnared by.
BUT forever in terror. Forever mad.
The Man throws his arms around the horse's uncomprimising neck. The Man strokes the
petrified mane and blubbers condolences into the tortured creature's ear.
Promising to free it. To sooth. To salve.
The Man look back and see what the horse fears.
The Man's heart freezes solid.
The blackest of despair desends upon the Man.
An other horse follows. The same fear boiling in the eyes. Head rearing back. A maddening
gallop.
The neck is adorned with the likeness of a Woman.
A loving mounful embrace. With a face streaming in tears.
Piece by Jim Corrao