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THE RIDER, By Sarah Manguso

Some believe the end will come in the form of a

mathematical equation.

Others believe it will descend as a shining horse.

I calculate the probabilities to be even at fifty percent:

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Either a thing will happen or it won’t.

I open a window,

I unmake the bed,

Somehow, I am moving close to the equation or to the horse with everything I do.

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Death comes in the form of a horse covered in shining equations.

There will be no further clues, I see.

I begin to read my horse.

The equations are drawn in the shapes of horses:

Horses covered in equations.

I am tempted to hook an ankle around the world as I ride away.

For I am about to ride far beyond the low prairie of beginnings and endings.


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