The rabbit haunts from a distance, patrolling fields for one to bear witness.
Gracefully the tenderfoot stalks, keeping a watchful eye out for Mr.Fox.
The creature walks with a slight limp, other animals often call him a gimp.
This way, that way, it all seems wrong, keeping time with a lost robin's song.

His home constructed as a single story wonder, located within a large tree laying asunder.
Family life wasn't right, as fleeting an image as a wayward kite.
A field mouse, left without spouse,
Stumbled upon the home in a tree, accompanied by a group of songbirds filled with glee.

The field mouse was asked to go, the creature in response, simply said no.
A man stumbled up, as mad as a hatter, his portly girth made it hard to imagine being any fatter.
He spoke of intrinsic right, boundless visions beyond sight.
Told the rabbit he had a duty to the mouse, saying it immoral to deprive him of a house.

The rabbit, reluctant to accept , found out from the man of the true evils in neglect.
He was told that he didn't own the home, it had simply been gifted as a goodwill loan.
That meant it was as his as much as the rabbits, regardless of any perspective habits.
With that the moused moved in, and brought with him his prized snakeskin.

Over a meal the mouse spoke of danger, coming in the form of a wandering stranger.
He told the rabbit, this creature travelled light, but usually shrouded in the cover of night.
Said the creature was not large in size, though his methods of thievery seemed quite wise.
The rabbit recoiled in his chair, as the field mouse offered up a demonic glare.

The field mouse grinned from ear to ear, sensing this rabbit's new grasp on fear.
Pulling the snakeskin from his sack, the dried shell was quick to crack.
The mouse spoke of a brave duel, between him and this monster, which had downed a mule.
He used every ounce of his cunning, and sent the legless beat running.

It wasn't good enough for the mouse, who was certainly no louse.
He tracked the snake for six long hours, through a field of partially bloomed flowers.
In the end he killed the snake, then took its skin so listeners knew the tale wasn't fake.
He held the skin, I mean the mouse, and said he'd hang the shell within the house.

Mr. Rabbit was found dead two days after, his body lay desecrated next to the snakes, hanging from a rafter.

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

Solitary, at a white night,
As snowflakes were diving into hollow,
To her remote room I skittered!

Smoke went up stairs
And cigar was lying on pyres!

I moused in like a thief-cat into the kitchen!

In a silver platter
My wedding ring was sobbing
While on the fluffy pillow
Her deflated head wallowed!

On the wall
I inked--GOOD NIGHT!

Standing accused
Only seven winters to my name
Moused by my fathers presence.
The very fear of it
Pressing the notion of gallows
Into the wooden casing
of our Iowa doorworks.

Challenging the gateway,
The neighborhood
John wayne gacey
Barely hiding his knives
Behind bruise cloaked eyes.
His corner man?
The no **** taking mother?

There were words
Little parental valkyrie fighting
In the air, encircling my head
With clashing shield and spear.
And finally the question.

Why did you do it?

All stared at the tiny
Self proclaimed savior of worms, snakes, and birds.

You see,

Bill was attempting to make an end.
The end of yet another small life.
And so when seeing bill peddling
Toward the beginnings of a robin
Upon surely what was that robins ending.
Seven winters brave flew across
The grand expanse of 7th st
Slamming into the animal antichrist,
Scooping up that prey,
And retreating to the stanktity*
That was our garage.

While that poured from my mind,
Like a voiceless demigod
Left to statue in the garden
Of inexperience.

Only this escaped,
A horse and cracked,
Solid stab at the truth.
"Because my heart told me to"
Behind the then untamed fiery youth
In my fathers eyes, the fury...
Was the golden pride
Only found
Singular ever
In that one
place.

.
Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

darkness
have no place
to hide
in the
light of truth
while
darkness
is moused
into the corner
of the my room

I enjoy a good cartoon
As much as anyone around
But can't remember when I moved
Into the middle of Cartoon Town

People now have about Mickey Moused
Everything to death
Don't have the nerve to say it out loud
So for now it's underneath my breath

It's hard to keep the daily Goofy
Out of the public square
Where once it was my duty
I'm now out to lunch like Yogi Bear

Is it that I'm just used to it
Exit stage left numb
Sufferin' Succotash Sylvester
Smack dab in the middle of Cartoon Town

Being quite the colorful array
Of 2D insanity these days
Where Fred and Wilma Flintstone
Are not the only ones to cave

With Bozo the Clown and his friends around
There's too many now to count
Every character you see you care to meet
In the middle of Cartoon Town