dead horse

don't quite know
what's wrong with me

but the usual
motivations
won't work

the gun and
all the people
shouting and
pointing,
the whip and
the sting and,
yes, even the carrot
might as well slap
and dangle on
Sysiphus's rock.

and these marionette
movements
are wobbling me
off the track again
rudely into neighbors
even in the wrong direction
odd.

and when i
should
Should
SHOULD
be thirsty
i won't drink

i seem more
interested
in falling down
and apart
and tracing the
arcs of green bottle
flies that seem
to have become
steady company of late,
how they lick me
and leave me
how they gassho
respectfully
rub their little hands
and drool.

it's quite entertaining
actually.

i wonder how
tightly and longly
the ground
can hold me down
today.