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
