Pupil on a Dream

Pupil on a dream

 
I am a small circle on a circle, a pupil on a dream. I am a pupil on a horse's eye, in a dream and again in art. I am a fractured text, intentionally designed. I myself painted that horse, the horse you painted. The horse he painted. The horse that waits for sleeping beauty to wake. Some days he's a cartoon, some days he's at war, others he is in the safety of myth. I ride the horse each time, his chiseled face carved in Roman statue. I rode him to the Vatican, his black mane, silver hide, like stars blinking, winking in the darkness. We are connected, this horse and its pupil. We know Michelangelo. He is the glint God put in my eye. I saw his dead rider, fallen. The horse alone, standing hopeless in a piece of art. Dried paint on drip cloth, scaffolding a bridge, a rainbow. His painters, still in their youth, always, always catching light, his pupil leading him out, into the space beyond art. Galloping, bucking, playing the cowboy. The cow and boy separated then put back, the cow horse, arena roping tying his legs in time. I never saw Snoop Dogg ride a horse or heard him sing about one either. This horse belonged to a prince, sleeping beauties prince, lost in dreams. I am the dead prince before his death. My spirit returned, to polish the glass case, the chamber where she sleeps. My blood is the artists brush, the song of Dali, the cube of Picasso. My music is my princess and she is awake. I run the track, while my spectators place bets.