A bilby rabbit on a crucifixion of two ribs
X-tied was on the lawn last night.
“Get out here, rabbit.” a man and woman
shouted but I didn’t leave my safe house.
The windows had me looking out
and they hung the bilby rabbit on
the X and baby-nailed her to the X,
the winds, both X and rabbit limbs,
and I woke up then and the rabbit
was half stuffed under the doorgap.
I dressed and opened a paper from back
in a day and read about red rapes and
yellow blood and all the discharged coals
of every cooked thing, and I twitched
my meaty ears and tugged a violin-string
from my face and looked at the sturdy,
white follicle.
I had a bag of iceberg lettuce and fressed it.
“Get out here, you fucking rabbit.” they
shouted, but I didn’t and the window and
looking out they had another rabbit and were
beating the rabbit’s back with a slim tree’s
amputated bough.
I woke up then and the rabbit was
a half-empty bag opened up on the porch.
There were no shortage of rabbits. I was one.
I bought a flat of ribs from the grocery,
and keeping distance, followed another rabbit
to his home. I stood on his lawn with the ribs
in the ground.
“Get out here, rabbit.” I shouted.
Twilight showered his stare from the window.
The nails rose up in my pocket.