Answer #35 - Rabbits in Boxes

The Rabbit and the Hunter

Wood.  Wood pillars on wooden two by fours gouged out of wood.

Gouged with sandpaper and oil and years of misgivings - spread over nights of uncertain leanings.
What do they want?

And what do I see there on the edge of the lateral plane?

Why?

'I'm missing something, I think,' said the rabbit to the hunter.  'And if the box is a home then this hole is a home and why don't I have no relief?'

No answer.

And then I'm running into the woods.  And the woods run past me.

And I can't stop.  Not ever.   And it's nowhere that I'm going.  But the movement is forgiving and the stopping is undoing, and do you see where the horizon lies?  It goes on forever.

Jump.

I'm jumping over this river, these smooth rocks and slight surface.  Give me air on the ground, give me ground on the water.

In the woods.
In the wood.

Light the fire. Send the rabbit into heaven and have something to remember him by when the ringing hits your head and the cold hits his head and stops there.

It stops.
Stops.