Free Entry 1, Week 6

You look like a centaur, but not the good kind:
the kind that opens its hips like a tulip with nothing
left to eat. And no second legs follow you, only
the tulugaq that whistles as if it knows you crush
the steady sleepers beneath your once-hooves, now toes.
Horns do not spear your scalp like a real mythic
or a foreign dove that caws against the wooden mountain
in the far right corner of my eye.
You look like a centaur, but not the good kind:
the kind that wishes it were more than just a horse.