ad you left
me alive, I would have killed
a rabbit for my pleasure.
Our proportion of skeleton to fur
would make me sure at least
of being animate.
The pelt, dead and bristling,
might guard me from death,
a city wet with the rain of better places.
Rubbing the skin so hard into my skin,
it would have been the gentlest thing.
It would have been a better brain.
My vanishing is a meadow
and I know my kill still moves
more or less disturbed,
every leap blowing the shell
off my deformed blue-lipped bud.
I would work myself into the dirt if I could stay.