bunni6

[bunni6]

you get yourself beaten one way or the other. you can turn sports, food, music, love and creation into a closed fist. you can turn any lip into a busted one. just search back alleys and you'll get pounded eventually. you'll find a starving pack of dogs, you'll be the first hunk of meat they've seen in weeks. they can tear you apart if you'd like, just wander over and shuffle your shoe a bit. they'll perk right up. you can even let a boy experiment all over you, that will work too. there's countless opportunities to getting the ache you need to sleep like you did back when you were a kid curled into a ball and absolutely unsure of how the sun would rise again. no worries

[bunni6]

honeyhoneyhoney. hivehivehive. in a galaxy forest of baby pink spews a golden honey hive. in a sea gloved inside of a porcelain globe floats the soft wind of a lungless siren resting cheek down in puddles of dirty water like antiquated mystery ruins, splattered upon by faulty faucet drops which pop against the ash rose softness of her raw hide. within a feathered lagoon rests supine a blissed out angel, delighted feet kicking at the tickle of sunlight climbing over the horizon of her legs, the slope of her thighs, higher and higher, his golden fingers spreading over every meter of her paradise. in a gorge of mountainous literature, carpeted earth of littered papers are squirming beneath the knees of a diligent student, her lips fed with words peeled from hardback novels that cradled in the arms of a dutiful mentor. in the spotlight of window moonshine, shadow crucifix, the mirror a camera, a pair of pristine instrumentalists pluck and bow, percuss and sound off in symphonic fantasia concerto. in the dawn of winter blue light, two humans become mad as rabbits, like lovers do. iloveyou.

[bunni6]

i heard your laughter like cathedral bells in my sleep, chiming into my dreaming village of narrow winding corridors and lifting open the heavy eyelids of a hundred dull and shriveled stars tucked inside blankets confined to wooden beds. subconscious fragments of sunlight rest their backs against the warmth of a dwindling hearth before the melody in the wind set them gentle on their feet, down enchanted paths in search of the sorceress. echoes of joy wave in patterns fashioned to build rapids of passion into the deluge of my bloodstream, rising higher and flooding steadily. in my dreams, the stars must glow in colors impossible to the naked eye in order to float mere molecules above the pool surface, and they only know the colors of the songs that penetrate my heart. songs that are god colored. God coded. God given. God evident. God would smite me if i admitted the arrogance, that cloud of hubris, storming through my head each time I theorize within your arms that I am the sole inhabitant of virtual Hea—I can't say it.

I still fear that he loves to take things away. all I can say is: find me and resuscitate me—eta: actually, don't.—if I should ever discover that you are something less than heaven sent.

[bunni6]

have decided that I'm giving Friday to the milk cream light soaking through white whipped clouds, relinquished to float amongst pigments beaming back to heaven bright where the sun drinks color, after having realized that i should just go ahead and drop it during the exchange of our kiss.

[bunni6]

god fucking damn it. life is so so fucking crazy. the world is burning. everything is being disemboweled. once a few years ago I went for a 6am run, the beginning of March, when mornings are lavender. i took my favorite track—loops of asphalt around craters of little league baseball fields. concrete steps lead down the slope directly to one of the curved corners of the track, the tall aluminum fence framing in the ball diamond. looking straight ahead at the fence I saw what could have been a t-shirt crumpled on the ground and laid against it in the grass. that would be a typical thing to see. People leave all sorts of things at their kids games. I've seen entire families of shoes left behind. entire meals. entire boxes of used condoms. it wasn't until i knelt down with a strong squint to add shadow to the dull morning light when I could finally define what was left behind.

and i'd seen rabbits! little brownish gray ones with decent sized ears! in the distance all my life. that wasn't shocking. I've even seen them dead on the road or once left in the yard from a dog. so i failed to flinch when gazing into the voided depths of its button black eye, tracing down the entirely untampered fur along the back. no sign of blood, no trail, no puddles. feet, paws, claws all in tact. it appeared so completely unfettered that i almost asked myself if it were ever alive at all; interrupted at the point of even considering the inquisitive tickle in my mind by the sharp reality slap, realizing that what my eyes were ingesting was a dry, red gaping hole of a wide open rabbit carcass. the thing had no insides in its cavity, the walls of which were still a bright red. peacefully complicit in its own violation, arrid flesh knifed n spread open with disturbing and torrid vulnerability. the lifeless offering laid bare. my eyes glued onto it long enough to almost be able to see the color of it descend into decay, vision searing through the surface of it, ingesting it with the same curiosity and morbid pleasure ive had with plenty of past pornographies.

sure it could be witchcraft. sure it could be hallucination. sure i could have made this all up. (I'm sure i didnt) I can't think of anything else. I don't know what to think of that. i don't know how to think of it. every blue moon morning, when the weather on my run happens to be just mild enough to allow recollection to penetrate my desperate need to fight mortality via cardiovascular stimulation, I find myself slowing my stride at the base of those stairs and wondering softly about the rabbit.

#aguttedrabbitcarcassisfinesolongasitisdinner

the thing about most decay is that it is usually a lot more alive than that. if I had seen a regular dead rabbit with fur that squirmed full of maggots and bees, I would understand; wouldn't need a second witness to verify it's existence, wouldn't have it etched into my mind. decay is fine so long as it's delicious, isn't it?

am i closer to the little maggot than the rabbit? it's like I'm looking for new rotten juicy death to devour daily. maybe i am like the bacteria, which is to say that i fucking stink. no, i mean that i could be what takes rabbit guts and transforms life into death, that used to turn death into life. i'm probably not that important.

but.. am I the rabbit. the host, the symbol, the sacrifice, the powerless, the prey, the reminder?

when it comes to death, I'd much rather be the juice. the guts. the flavor. the scent. the stain. the remains. the ink. the art. the blood. because I love you and i want to belong with you in life and death. i never want to leave you. is that okay with you? don't want a gutless expiration. I want the inside tender until dissipated. I want something worth devouring. by something, somewhere. I want to die a lover. I want to die loved. I want to die for love. what's the best by date?

I'll probably be talking about juice a lot on this thing because why not. juice is important.