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Intrusive Thought As Horse With Dead Rider

Jordan Ranft

The preordained trajectory of an                   

arrow arcing midair and careening


towards a skull. Animal logic expressed

by temperature and twitching haunch.


Knocked loose, a grey stone tumbles down

the sloped cathedral wall. Arriving


unannounced at the village gates,

the unassuming feast, the very back


of the eye. Indeed there is a purple storm

making ragged cloth from the sky and


cracking at the teeth of the mountain.

An ancient fold of the mind pulses.


Hooves avalanching across the altar cloth.

This will taint the celebrations, make us


hungry for every nail in the floor,

will chew our sanctuary down to


the quivering stone we have so carefully

placed in the earth. Each crashing step


twists a cursive of sparks from

the ground, dissolving barriers


between light and violence. Watch,

the impulse rears back as if startled


by its own image. Stumbling past

quiet eyes. Foaming at the mouth.


Finally speaking a chemical apocalypse.

Every fear confirmed with such conviction


the storm is mistaken for scripture.



Jordan Ranft

Jordan Ranft

Jordan Ranft lives in NYC with his partner and small dog. He writes poetry and music criticism. He has been previously published in Rust + Moth, Bodega, and Midway.

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