July 2007 - THE POTOMAC|
The Rabbit Catcher
The spoon mouth alive with poppy oil.
A constant sliding of flames, smoke blown like
hair of the dead. How we perched up high
on a tight wire. The syringe, its clear
wall of intent, the dull plug of its tongue,
and blood tearing blindly, unreeling to
worship that little prick. Feel the thick glass
handle hit the vein hollow like fortune,
its deep vacancy, a rabbit warren.