I Was Air Your Honour

I am both hooveless horse
and wind flowing up a train track
to uphold the train's back

I maneuver coaches from courses
till they won't find a Way back

I am ripped wing from frantic beetle
I am eager vein, I am tip of needle
piercing you and yours in Hay stacks

I am blackened lung
I am peace
pipe smoke

I am jammed gun
living in cross-hairs of Sniper's scopes

I am ripe
and gross

I am fight
turned ghost

I am night
too bright to behold

I am young, boring
and getting old

I am prolific
I stand on 10 percent
of what's been written down
proud

I am horrific
my beauty loud,
I am guts, I am heart
I am shell disemboweled

Voiceless, hung
with giant jowls
smug, a dumb mug
plunged into a splash of scowl,
scampering atop sacred grounds
and soon to draw that breath