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Poet Commentaries

guitar string snare

i only ever found one
alive,
screaming,
flopping, choking,
fur run red with cut up blood,
fresh from the sliced
meat.rabbit stew. rabbit soup. rabbit
in a crockpot, just add ‘taters
and wine.

the solemnity with which i
donned the mantel
of killer.
of hunter.
of meat getter.

how particular the specifics
of finding the spot
over the trail, the
trail, the rabbit trail,
worn by padded paws into
smoothed out dirt,
the rabbit trail,
the bent grass, the
rabbit pellets
leading me to find
you.

how specific the
particulars
of construct:

one flexed green limb,
bent taught
over the rabbit run,
rabbit run,
rabbit run.
the guitar string snare
hanging quiet as a
moon

over the trail.

rabbits have habits,
and habits make prey,
and rabbits know nothing
of

steel.

i only ever walked up on my own work
just the once,
every other dead rabbit was a dead rabbit was
a dead rabbit
was a cold dead rabbit.

but.

of a hundred dead soup pot meats,
i only remember
snapping
just
the one

neck.

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