Three 'Bunny' Poems by David Caddy

Red Dead Nettle
(Badman’s posies, Dumb-nettle)


Some tinge like a ponytail
stung my lip, slipped

rattled and smarted word clumps
that spored and blew off course.

Once a noisy grubber
now a Buster Keaton.

In this deficiency muteness unnerves, it is suggestible:
verging on emergency prostrate, it is also to be

as in go to and dig deep
as in membrane barrier from interference

as in photograph the derelicts
isolate damage, erosions and drag.

Burr of goose grass that primes these witnesses,
trims the mane where swirls sinuate.




Can’t Can’t Say


can’t can’t say can’t can’t say can’t can’t say
ohh ohh ohh  ohh ohh ohh  ohh ohh ohh
ohh ohhh ohh  ohh ohhh ohh  ohh ohhh ohh
can’t can’t say  can’t say  can’t say  can’t say

tr tr tr  tr tr tr  tr tr tr  tr tr tr  tr tr tr
tr         tr         tr         tr         tr
still got plenty o’ words in head
in my head tt tt try  try trying

Yes  my only word Yes
when I should say No
tr tr tr
ht ht ht  ht ht ht  ht ht ht

In this becoming bodily sounds affirm
tttt tits words don’t keep directions
as much as lip teeth pressure
dispersed with call and flap of wings

m m m  em em em  erm erm erm
mm mm mm em em em mm mm mm
mem mem  mem mem  mem mem
Ain’t seen Paul. I sez he’s dead. Dead.

nnn nnn nnn nnn nnn nnn Yes
Don’t need no mind changing
Don’t need no left or right decisions
No static new circuit  No new codes

can’t can’t say can’t can’t say  can’t say
ohh ohh ohh  ohh ohh ohh  ohh ohh ohh
ohh ohhh ohhh  ohhh ohhh ohh oh oh
can’t say  can’t say  can’t say  can’t say





Quiet


What I want is one foot in front of the light. The delicate choice of where to catch that old pike, the old wound beneath its crust of blood, slipping between lily pads,clogged artery of logs, branches; hip flask of sin

                                                                                 listen

                                                                             an

                                                                        oak

                                                             squeaks

                                                            under

                                                            air

                                                 ground

                                           pressure

                                           and

                                   almost

                             topples

into the rush, a drunk

back-racked as often as glisten.

Waders leave before scattered drop.

Stop, stopped loose, moist and well-oxygenated.