White Horses

A pillar of something strong and stiff
whale bones, bleached white and chalked.
Small pearly holes digging a home,
Some place warm and free and unquestioning.

It rises like hot air, sweet with confidence
Tall strong shoulders, muscles pushing persistant.
And here you are, but that is nothing different.
Held up by this whale-bone corset. Black on black.

A fashion statement of epic proportions.
And there they are, but that is so easy.
Faces in places that remind you of nothing good.
Everything good, but nothing that can be saved.

Pure babies and virginal processions; Elsa in C Minor.
What is this supposed to mean?
Some notes some papers some hands playing memory.
Finding ways to bend and move.

Out of this time and wishing for another.
Praying that all is all and forever is not real.
Beds of blood red sheets full of starch.
Bad dreaming and awful hope. 

To be lost. Never never found.