scott moore | headless horses & lime green


1am swimming lessons in the sweat river
No pretty lifeguards to throw the noose
Tomorrows all ready shitting water
The fix too far from flesh

In the drawer buried deep in the socks
The list of last attempts
The gypsy rolodex

Tired eyes tug at shaking fingers
Scanning up and down, over and again
Who’s a player, who’s a rip?

Jonnies a no, Jens’s in jail, Beto’s a break in
Fuck it, shaman’s shimmy
In the candle light
Of a Fentenol high
Maybe he’ll trail off
Leave some behind

Plastic caps and empty bottles
Make the fingers itch
There are no books to show
No schools to go to
You wake and arrive

Posting notes to friends
Society’s clock has stopped
To strain the boundaries of civilized thought
Code, I’m hunting

The stains dried
The nods have arrived
Missing lights and crossing lines at lunch time
Hitting the Jameson hard

In the bile’s of need
Dreams become delusion
There are no priests on this pilgrimage
Just headless horses running dirty highways

An endless chase
On the lost race
A liars game
The want
Your whipping post
That’s truth


On West Boylston common
Alone on earths end
So close, so very close

To stand below your hanging head
Blood drops and buckets

A ghost’s walk
To hold the hand of skeletons
An invitation to join the hallows
In spring showers

A man, a guest
Peered across the grey cloak
Of a hundred years past
His life, unmarked stones
His eyes, untold stories

The only friend left to hold
His pup
His life line, his thread

Ominous clouds and confusion reigned
A lightening rod for salvation
His plea to bathe in
Redemption from his wrongs
From his exile

In a moment of rapture
The man and pup wash in sunbeam
Rain fell not far from reach
Tears tangled his eyes
Memories became years flashing by

He stared hard, a sign, a picture, and a whisper
No one could steal away
For a few minutes he saw, he lived
He believed
In lime green

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.