The Hare

His gasping or his panting of love

Held in a candle globe

Reflections of portals

Stronghold of dissent

Absurd secret in all it’s possibilities

Which way up

Waking to omniscient denial of experience

Heads full of fascism

Neighborhood bubbles under the unforgiving sun

Impregnated with a miraculous or spiritual power

Magick in the eye of the beholder

Rest not for your burden is awaiting you 

ceaseless repetition of gestures

Sparkles whispering in the autumn sky

The hope that everyone we know and love is okay

I know him

water slipping through my fingers