they walk around the room cuddling a dead hare
smearing the floor with stale syrupy gold
they cry out loud that awakening is here
exactly as beuys has foretold
i lie on the floor trying not to sleep
but the damned gold flashes before my eyes
here i balance over the greasy steep
falling through the creaky rickety skies
and i see in my dream how a huge dead hare
cuddles me to its soft warm belly
runs its paws over my messy hair
treats me to marmite and orange jelly
the hare whispers of shoes and sealing wax
of shooting stars over the seashore
that a worldview’s a matter of parallax
…i wake up to the sound of a slammed door
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2019
unbolt me 
By the sound of a door! I thought that hares all had an alarm clock
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Now, that’s one rabbit hole we don’t want to start tumbling down… 😉
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I like it!
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Tati thanks you! 🙂
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Intriguing, Tati. A sort of mocking intimacy. My favorite line: “Runs its paws over my messy hair,
treats me to marmite and orange jelly.”
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Thanks so much for those kind words, Mitch! And for reading!
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Ah, sorry, Tony, I thought this was one of Tati’s. Enjoyed it!
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Oh, no no no no no, Mitch. It certainly is one of Tati’s, so you’re absolutely correct there! No, I happen to be the official comment answerer around these here parts is all. As such, I’ll tend to respond on behalf of Tati who is always incredibly grateful for the kind words her writings receive. 🙂
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Thank you, Mitch. 🙂
(Yeah, Tati is a real person. She isn’t Tony’s alter-ego how some people get used to think.) 😛
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Some times the comments – and replies – inform and entertain and perhaps best of all confuse. And for this I get a three-fer! Tony, though I’d apprecunhateit if you’d hold down the “gents:” commentary. Someone I know might catch that and thus spoil my carefully crafted disrepute. Repairing a broken ‘dis’ is perhaps more mushroom tea than to which I now have access – the former cow pastures no longer is ringed by nervous farmers and mycrographical aficionadoes. Besides, rock-salt shotgun shells sometimes stung worse than birdshot; a practice ‘shroon lovers and cow-raisers learned from watermelon growers hereabouts. Besides, now said fields have been teriorized (terrior – ‘scuse: in an unlookupable mood at present and insist new housing tracts over old stomping grounds retain the mustyness of sandhill crane and hereford poop. I, too, had some whatsitallmean moments while reading…and I especially treasure such. Fling more fun my way si vous plait.
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Can do, guv! 😛
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🤩🤩🤩
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😛
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“Stale syrupy gold” is brilliant, Tony. Altogether, very profound.
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Thanks so much, Dolly! Tati will be overjoyed to hear that. It was one of my favourite lines too!
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Terry Pratchett has “molten syrupy gold.” I was wondering…
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I’d check with your mushroom supplier 🙂
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We love our shrooms, we do! 😛
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Why doesn’t that surprise me 🙂
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I enjoyed reading this, although I am not sure what the true meaning was. I thought, perhaps a one night stand, a misunderstood artist or a taxidermist. I once saw a exhibition of Joseph Bueys work and was astounded by the fact that a painting with a single Copper Beach Leaf was valued at €6000.00. I only every leaf in my garden could be valued as such. Great piece of poetry – provocative and inaccessable.
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Thanks so much, James. Tati was writing about a particular performance piece that Joseph Beuys put on. It involved a dead hare and some other things. It was… well, out there.
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Reblogged this on richwrapper and commented:
How to explain why only five stars available to praise this piece, Tetiana? So glad I stopped by en route to tardy returns to mine own fields. I kept waiting for denouement and a door surprised me to go searching for Harvey’s Hop-Sister to tell her of such sandwiched delights and drippy floors. Thanks.
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You, sir, are a gent. Tati is very grateful for this acknowledgement! (As am I!)
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