Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence.
.
twitching nose, whiskers
that know i’m close.
close enough to touch
and still nearer it grows
old clothes strewn across
green bunk beds of moss
that rabbit sniffs and then bolts.
i halt in my steps
flexing biceps,
i draw my gun.
.
stunned, it rubs its paws,
digs dirty claws into the earth
the fun has only just
begun. this is my turf;
my eden my dawn
and my dusk.
husks of a man i
no longer trust sit
upon my throne;
i am skin and i am bone.
i am home, but rabbit is far
from its burrow.
i will find it tomorrow.
i will string them all
up on hooks.
i’ve read how to do it
in the books.
.
rabbit looks at me head on
does it know i bled
its mum? hind legs
kick, crumbled red bricks
red dust and red mud
my trusty black boots thud.
humble huts, washing lines;
those clothes aren’t even mine.
rabbit seems to laugh
when it sees me. i do have a
heart, it bleeds me. there are trees
that drop seeds and sprout young
just to please me.
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125,025 Literary Works • 672,762 Reviews
Hai :3
Oh my goodness, return of the not-so-mighty man!! I was wondering when his story would come full-circle >.> He's surely a character!!
I am so obsessed with collection of poems!! This one is sinister in the most intoxicating way. There’s such a feral, hunter-prey energy to it, but underneath that, there’s something even more unhinged. Like, a creeping self-awareness that makes it feel so much worse (in the best way). It’s giving this god-complex in a wasteland vibe, like a person unraveling into something primal while trying to convince themselves they belong in this violence. I love it!!
The immediacy here is so good. You start with the prey’s perception, not the hunter’s, which already makes this feel off, like the rabbit is more aware than it should be. That's eerie!! I love how that also reflects into the not-so-mighty man's characterization. The softness of the world, nature still doing its thing, is completely at odds with the brute force of him. His flexing is almost comically performative to me, like he is hyping himself up before something so small. It already tells us this isn’t just about the rabbit ~~ It's about him, about what he represents.
^^^ That works a lot with how the poem has, "my Eden, my dawn and my dusk." This is where the god-complex starts creeping in, where he stops being just a person and starts becoming something bigger, more monstrous. He's claimed the land, the time of day, the entire world for himself. I know the previous poem was about war and soldier-hood, but I'm starting to think this is creeping into a commentary on masculinity itself? I have a nagging suspicion.
!!!! Uncanny vibes from this, I was taken aback!!
This is next-level disturbing. There’s no proof that the rabbit knows, but the man wants it to. He needs it to, probably because it affirms the whole point of his senseless violence. The idea that this small, silent creature might understand the depth of his violence makes the whole hunt feel religious, like he wants an audience for his sins. I think, again, that is a brilliant point to make against traditional masculinity and the toxicity that comes with it!! He feels very archetypal to me, especially in this poem.
This is terrifying. There’s this absolute certainty that the world is bending to his will, that even nature exists to serve him. It’s so wrong, but it’s said with such confidence that it’s almost convincing. Almost!! I mean, I know that he is just deluded with his pride and ego, that he is just an unreliable narrator... BUT I imagine that his belief runs deeper to him than just a boastful statement. It's like since he believes he is something powerful, something inhumanely so, he is.
Ugh, I love this!! It's fantastic!! The way you weave together hunter-prey dynamics, self-imposed divinity, and this decaying sense of reality makes it feel so big, even though it’s such a small, simple moment. A man, a gun, and a rabbit. The violence is almost casual at first, but by the end, it’s clear this isn’t about hunting at all; it’s about power. Maybe he's actually mighty?
I really, really hope you've written more parts to this... <.<
- Payton
thank you so much again payton!!! i love your reviews, and they mean a lot. You're so right again in your interpretations; this is kind of a post-apocalyptic scenario, the mighty man fallen from grace (mentions of his throne etc) but he is still hanging on to that power he once had, believing that nature bends to his will like it used to - though whether this is a real power or a metaphor ive not actually decided yet XD <3
This poem is cool but also kind of creepy (in a good way). The way it talks about hunting a rabbit makes you feel tense, as if you’re right there in the moment. I appreciate how you use a lot of vivid images, like "green bunk beds of moss" and "old clothes strewn across," which make the place feel alive and strange. The narrator seems tough and doesn’t trust others, yet he also feels somewhat sad, as if something bad has happened to him.
The way the poem shifts from describing the rabbit to discussing the narrator’s past feels a bit confusing, though (in my opinion). Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly what the narrator means, but that might be the point—like we’re in his head and he’s all over the place. Just a reminder, because I couldn't help but notice, capitalize I.
Overall, it's a nice poem, and I really like it.
:3
thank you for your kind words and review! I deliberately chose not to capitalise the i to symbolise that in this sort of post-apocalyptic scenario he is not important anymore, even though he thinks he is! but i understand the confusion, i do realise a lot of times what i write can be hard to understand/interpret, so i'll definitely rework a few parts of this in the future!
I know I rarely review your works because you show me privately, but I had to review this. There's so much creepy, strong imagery in here, painting this story of a fallen king or fallen leader, reduced to skin and bone, trying to hunt a rabbit who somehow escapes him. I love how it ties into your previous one, with the mighty man and his many hands; now he has two like the rest of us.
those last few lines:
flow so incredibly well, almost like a rap or a song, and are this poignant reminder that this man thinks he has power, but he doesn't. the trees don't spread seeds for him, they do it because they need to survive.
awww thank you!! i'm not sure how clear the connections between all the poems are
it's pretty clear to me, but that's because you told me.