Roadside grassy, damp with dew
bunny laid flat, pointing northward
seems to beg the question,
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Tsotha favorited this poem!
fucking rabbit ears
o fucking five
During a time in my life, I couldn't shake the image of roadkill. Cats, dogs, lizards, some humans, also motorcycle drivers. I'd look at pictures of car crashes and look for the red dots. There was a fascinating picture taken moments after the crash of a racing car, disintegrating against a wall at 200 miles an hour. I wondered at the red chunks flying through the air. Could they be reassembled, like a puzzle? I saw a road as a meat grinder, collecting little pieces of animals and people over the years, and I stepping on it. It took me a lot of not-thinking to het over it.
Your poem reminds me of my mental state, back then. The jump between blue skies, green grass and dew, and death. Apathy, or "eccentricity" in the face of the unbearable horror gone unnoticed by those who surround me. At least, that's what I got from this. Very nicely written.more...
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