The
Test Rabbit
There
is nothing well-intentioned or well-meaning
that
you cannot conjure up from in yourself
like
a rabbit from a hat deep dark and pricey
and
destined for the pot
one
shot of fakery
for
the deaf sound of applause face blanked with misery
monotonous
as a landscape finger painting
and
you can spend a lifetime swept with waiting
the
wind as cold as ice-cube trays
sound
of water cracking
and
the howling of the sea still old and rolling
as
though you had not been here
as
though you weren’t alive/ a living breathing being
called
out from the void
like
that white rabbit domesticised and docile
hung
up by its long ears bereft of memory
bloodied
in its juices
there
was no cause to bring me here/ I boil and stew
no
great magician in the sky made up to save me
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