there was a raccoon,
who wore a mask.
not because he needed to hide,
but because the mask
helped him see.

his mask wasn’t made of cloth
or leather,
but of his own eyes—
two dark, gleaming windows
that could look at the world
and become whatever he needed.

he didn’t wear it out of shame,
no—
he wore it because
it gave him permission
to be more
than he’d ever been told he could be.
it let him try on
every shape,
every name,
every possibility
he’d never dared to touch.

the raccoon was a thief, yes,
but he stole only what was already his.
his happiness,
his strength,
his soft little victories
the raccoon’s mask was not a disguise,
but a gift—
a gift he gave himself
every day
and wore like a crown.

because the raccoon knew:
you don’t have to fit
into what the world says you should be.
sometimes,
you have to steal your joy—
and wear it like a mask
that lets you dance
in the light
of your own making.

and when the mask came off at night,
he was still him.
and that was enough.

rocky raccoon
           cowboy in the
dust of somewhere / nowhere
                                        leaning
into a quicksilver sunset,
hands tied in twisted
ropecords, each knot
a secret no one knows

who
        pulls the trigger?
hands, trembling
                like the last bird
that fell from sky
                splayed wide—flesh    
and bone paint the prairie
                                    /flawed
with the stain of not being fast enough
but this
             is cowboy's life
no slowness in
                the click
of a gun /
                    but the final breath
          like wind
                           whistling
     through bonechamber
     between ribs—an afterthought.

        (the sheriff's a ghost, a thin rope
of smoke, and eyes are just
               holes drilled into glass)
      all /time/hangs
                 in moments—      
                                            lassoed
     by a mind that only
         remembers scars

rocky’s fingers curl, twitch
            (don't you move just
       let it happen, let it happen,
   you know it’ll fade—)
                       breath is a yellow
    fading light
         pushing past
                     skin /skin
                                       skin

the rope (too thick)
                  slices
        into a body that doesn't belong
anywhere,
                         just in that second
when he knew
                time bends and
                            falls
like dust back into dust

the howl of wind,
               the grind of
                          bullet
                (aimed but missed
because nothing
          sticks around long enough)
                       hangs in that
                   empty sky
                            and what was
                             done, undone.

if death speaks,
                         it's just
                       another song
that nobody
  quite understands  
                           yet
as the raccoon cowboy
               swings

                                         there

Bandits in the night
Rumbling through pedestrian leftovers
Fluffy tails and primed noses

Hallucinations of a well-meaning friend
Scurrying across the trails
Gone like a ghost

Jump against the walls.
Like no one’s watching
Enjoying the embrace of friendship

sly masked marauder
recklessly raucous raccoon
~ the final frontier






Mark Toney © 2021

Ma Jalouse, Mon Unique, Mon Ultime
Sais-tu ce que Lord Invader, Sam Manning
Cyril Monrose, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong
Jack Sneed et Ernest Rangling
Sans oublier Blue Glaze Mento Band et Phil Madison ?
Et je m'arrête là pour l'instant,
Sais-tu ce qu'ils ont en commun ?
Eh bien vois-tu, ce sont tous mes ombres.
Tu ne pourras jamais me comprendre
Si tu ne les comprends pas
Et si tu ne sais pas ce que représentent pour moi
La mangouste et le raccoon.
De même que pour te comprendre il faut avoir lu tout Dostoievski
Pour me comprendre il faut avoir écouté tout Sly Mongoose
Car peut être n'as-tu vu en moi qu'aria et boléro, symphonie et concerto
Alors je t'explique : pour comprendre, n'essaie pas de philosopher
Lève-toi et bouge tout simplement et tu toucheras l 'essence
C'est du folklore, c'est du reggae, c 'est du mento, c'est du calypso, c'est du jazz,
C'est instrumental ou c'est vocal
C'est moi, mes ascendances et descendances.
Sly Mongoose c'est mes Frères Karamasov
Smerdiakov, Aliocha, Ivan et Dmitri
C'est mon Idiot, mon prince Lev Mychkine
C'est mon Joueur, mon Alexei Ivanovitch

Mon Rêve d'un Homme Ridicule
Et Raskolnikov errant dans la nuit dans Crime et Châtiment.
Sly Mongoose c'est l'histoire d'une mangouste maline
Qui a baptisé la fille du pasteur
De son eau sainte
Et qui fuit la Jamaïque
Et part à l'étranger
Après son forfait.
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui vole les poules les plus grasses de la cuisine
Et qui les met dans la poche de son veston
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui entre dans la cuisine d'un prédicateur
Et qui repart avec une des poules les plus grasses
Et tous les chiens savent son nom.
il s'appelle Sly Mangoose
Il est malin, il est vicieux, le compère
C'est mon ombre, que veux-tu
Et parfois pour échapper aux prédateurs
Il prend l'apparence de l'ombre d'un raccoon.

Ma chatte !
Pourrais-tu me rendre un petit service ?
J'aimerais te prendre toute habillée
De pleins et de déliés
Dans le noir le plus complet de l'encre
Puisque la nudité t'effraie et te chagrine.
Mais pas n 'importe comment, ma minou !
J'aimerais te prendre déguisée,
Fardée, maquillée, parfumée, pomponnée.
J'hésite entre astronaute, religieuse dans l'ordre des Carmélites Déchaussées
Astrologue et paléontologue, déchiffreuse de hiéroglyphes.
Ah cartomancienne aussi.
Tu t'occupes, ma chatte, du déguisement du haut
Je me charge du déguisement du bas !
D'accord ? Tu veux bien ! Je t'adore !
Et toi tu veux que je me déguise en quoi ?
Ou tu préfères que je reste nu comme un ver ?
Tu te réserves le haut ou le bas ?
Ou la panoplie toute entière ?
Ah tu veux te charger de tout ?
Je te laisse faire ton choix.
Je peux incarner ce que tu veux
Ensemble ou séparément
Cowboy, homme de Néandertal ou de Cro-Magnon au choix
Curé, comme le bon curé d'Ars ou simplement pape impie
Libellule, homme grenouille, raccoon, orphie,
Oiseau-lyre ou mangouste, pharaon, dragon, E.T.
Quelle que soit la panoplie que tu choisiras pour moi
Je précise la taille : XXL
Et si d'aventure tu me choisis un masque, ma Muse
Je voudrais porter ton visage car je suis ton ombre.
Et je voudrais te regarder dans mes yeux
Et t'embrasser longuement iris contre iris.

It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack.
My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window.
That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual
human.
I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences.
Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more.
The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom.
The bread, my hungry curiosity.
The raccoon, an urge.

The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting
knife.
The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend.
I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited.
or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal.

The raccoon has taken to following me.
You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other.
The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy.
Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement.
A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread.
And I feed myself again.

(2017)

Silently, I leaped beyond
And just the dull raccoon,
Who stole the kernel as it played
In garden, yet was gone.

'T was the latter sunlight,
'T was the man today,
That when the bashful voice came in
The creature escaped away.

Throw me in the chartreuse fields
So I can leave my pain behind
Violets and Daffodils will turn
Me into their kids

Buy me out of sable walls
So I can see the other side
Violets and Daffodils will kiss
My spine

Say white, say blue
On a spring afternoon

Whisper out loud
O-hoo

Take me out for a walk on moon
So i can plant lovat' on stone.
Violets and daffodils will grow
On a pale ball.

Lie with me on frosty grass
Keep your feet above the stars.
Violets and daffodils will pass
But we can last.