To Write Something

You can drive a horse to drink.
There’s a muddy puddle
Outside for that sort of thing.

It’s reflecting a dead church with
Pie-in-the-sky underpinnings,
Its many dark facades
Papered with flyers
Advertising past literary events.

The ghost in a back-support brace
Eating his white bread supper
In the belfry, worrying over
His unfinished manuscript.

Yes, a horse will drink.
Just ask Barney Google
Who says, “But a pencil must be lead.”

His horse was reading a newspaper,
And was lazy as sin,
But not thirsty in the least.