FUCKUP POV

 we had scattered under nights black velvet 
 in a fading flash of denim and hi-tops 

  like 

  we 

  shared 

  a 

  hive 

  mind 

 we were hiding from police men 

 and the joyless fiend 

 who called them 

  in 

  the 

  green belt hill fields 

 out

  on 

 the

 empty edge of town 

 i stretched flat in the dark 

  in 

  tall 

  wet 

  grass 

 contraband stuffed in my sock 

 i was on a wild ragged drunk 

  i was in a teflon bubble 

 EVERYTHING 

  worth 

  a 

  mean superior adrenaline cackle 

  from 

  my 

 defence machine 

  fuckup POV  

 and 

  trapped in a hollow 

  under the swing of lights 

  flat 

  out 

  on the hills green open palm 

  i 

  remembered 

  seeing 

  the rabbits that live here 

  when 

 i 

 was 

  a 

  child 

 running the weekend away 

  with rope 

  and a stick 

 the rabbits sat here 

  arranged on the slope 

  at dawn and at dusk 

 . . . this thought grabbed me by the armour . . . 

 and i became sorry 

  i was not an animal 

 not a sun bear 

  not a treecat 

  not a hillside rabbit 

 arranged on the slope 

  at dawn and at dusk 

 no home but a hole and the weather 

  no law but instinct and hunger  

 arranged on the slope 

  at dawn and at dusk 

 and when the police mens searching torches swung away 

  and when the car doors slammed shut in the quiet 

  and when the car droned downhill off and away 

 i 

  stood 

  up 

  half reborn and weirdly calmed 

  and 

  walked 

  home 

  damp 

  alone 

  and 

  twice as high 

  without 

  any manic cackles to stifle 

  in 

  an 

  unexpected lucid peace 

  a sudden state of grace 

 i 

  would 

  soon 

  forget 

by gelitin, 2005, in artesina, italian alps