No more giants
Rossinante,
take me to a hospital,
muffle-hoofed
and not too eager to oblige.
It will be my final stay,
my final stage.
The crazed man fighting white-coats:
it’s not the noblest of quests
but one of means,
one that will do;
a grinding to a halt,
not worthy of a song.
Rossinante,
having endured my lonely madness
for so many years,
my friend,
deliver me from dreams and longing:
this puppet’s work is done.
Take me home,
Rossinante,
just take me home.