I made it! Back running with the pack – how appropriate for this exercise through the Boschian landscape of noses thumbed at all the powers that be- a true democracy of pratfalls and scatology plunked down among what’s most divine. Good reminder of the import bread and circuses can have in keeping power on its throne…Quack! Quack!
When Rabbit Goes A’hunting
Snail rides upon his glove
you laugh, but ponder the power
of all that oozes, persistently
inexorably inching forth,
changing form to slip beneath closed doors,
wend cracks, deploy from niche and crevice;
armored creature sensitive to nuance,
translates vibration through a liquid membrane
ten times more sensitive than skin, clever
engineer whose shell spirals like galaxies
to form a home defended by radulae
so venomous and dire, men die
on being stung.
Perhaps you laugh at rabbit
riding on a greyhound. Is not a coney
canine’s prey? You forget how wit
can best brute force with guile, sell a dog
a barren bone and leave him smiling.
Monks who hunched above their desks all day
could not resist the urge to play those tricks
any enslaved creature lays upon its master,
Trickster comes as Hero only to a common man
crushed beneath the weighty of God, King, Pope
or Mammon. If he wishes to survive,
his weapon – ridicule, must come disguised
as Rabbit, Fox or Chanticleer amid the curling leaves
of ornate vegetation, twining lush around
the very sacred words that forged his chains.