To do just as I please,

Master need I confide,
you cannot be locked or looped
or juked as one had hoped,
as an isle with mote,
as a sclera, wash-white,
as a pupil the size of an eye?

On this hairline fracture,
this pale resignation,
as Grandmother would say,
I've soundly "opened the light".

Been a stud-pretty appliance:
wet between the manicured faciae, 

dancing perissodactyl tap 
in the there, but barely, puddles,

kicking bits of memory
this way and that--

droplets to be forgotten
by undulates such as I.

I'd rather die a zebra
stalked down by a felidae
than go on trotting as
this ass made of myself.

Can you tell?

That I'll rupture riders' reigns?
Spread them thin?
Pull them thin at either end
between my even numbered toes?

Until a toothless, un-horse-ish grin
permits its bleed from lips,
up a grassy, hilly mammal's jaw,

a shallow spill.

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