By Brett Johnson

Scream of melting horses.
Sprinkled hooves march
shattered,
fluttering waffling cone
walls.
Lower the gates, let them
walk,
shuffling at their leisurely pace.

As speeches fall flat
and the future falls
ground so thin,
crumbling down it comes.
Oozing such a mess,
A melting pot, defined by
have and have nots.
Just keep sweeping it under.

Lower the gates, let them walk,
shuffling at their maniacal pace.

Copyright 2016 – Brett Johnson – All Rights Reserved

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