everything i can't tell you

i've never ridden a horse 
but i have a memory of doing so.
we're smacking across on pavement.
bareback. my legs holding onto
the warm animal's torso. 
the only thought in my head is
that i have to get away from you. 
horses are beautiful machines--
they suggest muscle & freedom 
as if one day i could grow myself hooves & 
nothing my fingers did would have to matter.
i want no one to love me the same way
they love other humans. i want to be loved
like an animal. the horse
is terrified of cars. he screams the way
only horses can. the streets are
mostly empty aside from those few
dwindling vehicles that never go home.
i cling to the mane. coarse & black.
my phone is ringing so i throw it 
into the moon where it skips & leaves
a scar. i am trying so hard to be 
beautiful all the time for you. 
maybe this is a memory 
of everything i haven't done--
how only inside myself have i let 
the horse do what only horses can do.
somewhere outside this city there 
are fields & i am not aiming for them.
there is water that offers sinking--
an ocean full of boat-lights swaying.
the horse wants everything for me.
wants me to be a boy but 
i seep into a mesh of fears--
a shroud flung over the shoulder
of a monster. i am easily taken away
by a strong wind. all my blood 
a kind of fabric. on the horse
i am tying myself into knots
& telling the animal to go faster.
gunshots come out of my mouth.
i try to swallow them before
they come out. in this memory 
we reach an impossible tree
with fruit of all different kinds 
hanging from the branches.
i ask the horse if i am dead
& the horse doesn't respond
because he's a horse. i feed him
& he sleeps & i lay down
in the scraggled grass. this is not
a parable. this is everything i want
right now & everything i can't 
tell you.