The broncos held next door
Tended by unexpected physicians
Whose hands are stained
Roar as they are goaded
Thundering not with their hooves but
With the exhalations of what they drink
And we who listen as those who seek us
Wrestle with those spirits by which they are haunted
And defilement of the temples given into their care
Must hear instead the burgeoning stampedes
Rather than the songs they seek to sing
Whose voices have often been drowned out
Choked off for smoke and stranger dusts
Or sleeps enforced upon them

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