The Hoofs
Listenning for the hoofs of the rescue party
Waiting for some ghost pony
To glide into Berkeley
With an old fish bowl for a tear trap
Strapped to its ghost saddle
It moves slow like an excercise bike
On an airport walkway
Yeah
Something that wouldn't smell like ground ants
Or glossy magazine cologne
But a wet street after light late summer rain
A wooden match just lit
Or something new in the green
Subject of a landscape painting
Or something new in the foreground
In a poster of some Asian mountains
That says "patience" in a funky Italics