go ahead and give up

before the starting gate

buck off anyone

that could believe in you

reeling backward, backward

tripping in the sand

almost getting trampled

by every thoroughbred

with a luckier name

run in circles

once the crowds thin out

panting, whispering

I don’t need roses

I don’t need roses

can’t you see

I just need one

to stop running

I wait for you by the rail

after my greatest, my missed

two minutes in sports

you, the last drunk

in the infield

one rose

in your coat pocket

disappointed men

too tall to be jockeys,

too short to be studs

always bet on me

begging me

to repay in some way

the mistake you made first

pull up my pursed

lips, cursed, branded

for competition

and move my tongue

towards your seeersuckers

take the wilted petals

and spread them through my mane

I want to feel

like I failed by choice