Horse Thoughts

If I was a horse,
I’d be, like… into horse stuff.
Running, probably.
Or standing still in a field,
which seems like a big part of it.
Eating grass?
Yeah, definitely eating grass.

Maybe someone would brush my mane.
Maybe I’d kick a fence post once in a while,
just to remind the world I had power.
But mostly I think I’d just stand there,
ears twitching,
pretending I understood the wind.

I didn’t really think this through.
I wanted a metaphor,
something about freedom,
or strength,
or the unbroken line of wildness
from prairie to horizon.

Instead, all I have is grass in my mouth,
flies in my eyes,
and the uneasy sense
that even as a horse,
I’d still be looking around
for someone else to tell me
what I’m supposed to mean.

At the Eldritch Horror Zoo

They told us to stay with the group,
to keep our hands behind the rope.
But when the guide lifted the latch,
everyone leaned forward,
phones out,
ready for the spectacle.

And there it was—
the shoggoth,
its surface folding and re-folding,
eyes appearing and closing again,
a body that never decided
what shape to keep.

Someone said it was safe.
Someone said it liked attention.
So we pet it with care,
palms brushing its slick surface,
like stroking warm glass
that rippled when it breathed.

For a moment, it purred.
Or maybe that was the sound
of stars rearranging themselves.
Then the glyphs appeared—
on our wrists,
our cheeks,
our tongues—
burning faintly,
like ink scrawled by a hand
we could not see.

The guide cleared his throat.
“These marks are temporary,” he said.
“They fade after a few weeks.
Most of them.”
And then he smiled,
handing out pamphlets
with emergency numbers
in case the dreams
grew too loud.

————

Jeff Cove lives in the internet. He has published some things. His website is https://jeffcove.com/