horse storm

the hooves were like hail.
telling a story to a date again,
"when i was a child
i saw the sky turn
into bottles." a thunderstorm
where in the dark i saw my father
as a snake. my brothers & i
ate pineapple from tin cans.
i learned to burn my wrists
with matches. created
connect-the-dots or constellations. 
is this what the gods were doing?
sitting in a basement 
trying to hurt themselves into being.
do the gods self-harm? do they 
turn to the void to try
to talk things out? do the words
turn strange & stringy in their mouths.
i ghost my therapist. i make up 
the things she might tell me.
sometimes you find yourself 
in a wild & you have to find a horse.
ancestries of toppled cupboards.
pointing to the hole in the wall
where my brother became a man.
then the other hole
where my uncle tried
to connect the two sides of house.
a house is so much like a horse.
what is carried. what is domesticated.
what has only one toe. basement
of bobbleheads & buckets.
that one crucifix where jesus looks
like he's smiling. like this is a kink.
i mean of course it is. restraint.
reward. the clouds have their own 
televisions. their own sisters & spatulas.
sing to me if you want to but don't
make a promise you're
too scared to keep. kill the rose bush
before it kills you. i do not know
how i got here or what i want.
the horses start to fall.
tumbling bones. rain rushing
as blood in their teeth.
nothing to see here unless you want
there to be. i look around
& wonder if i should call someone.
there is only the gods & they are busy being young.
i tell my date, "let's go outside."
he says, "in this?"