Bright Orange for the Shroud

The girls ripped her sanity,
Whining, shredding the peace,
Good at their job, …being two and three,
At being spurs dug into her ribs.
They could ride and ride ‘til the horn.

He rode her too,
Elusive, bucking, rearranging the rules,
Dangling just out of her grasp.
A lover, a promise, a prize,
A future of words, of delicious perverse.

The Circuit kills courage,
Tailbones, spines,
And faith in one’s skills.
Dreams are lost in the calendar’s dust,
In rides that lead to nowhere.

A death this night… a murder of two.
A massive contusion, spirits ripped free,
Their bodies raw with tears.
Their last dawn opened its eye
Bright orange for the shroud.