November 12, 2015
“Rabbity,” one of my very small number of poems to date, was born and revised during September and October 2015.
My friend dons a mask made of maggots
Wears a wreath round his buck-toothed face
Hosting a ball in that tiny, hollow place
Where once he would have peered out
From between two jungles of eyelashes
I see only a gleaming cup full of ashes.
I’m hearing a million morsels in the mouths
Of five thousand gluttonous nouns
Which earn that title, as each and every
Bloody drop’s a horn of plenty
For them what seems a single ounce
Is to me three hundred pounds.
A downy antenna stands tall atop the heap
Broadcasting a snowy signal south
Toward what was not so long ago a snout.
And all in one moment I am sure:
The down coat is one my friend once wore,
The heap-shaped rabbit in a death-shaped door.