Television

Down by the shed
I saw the rabbit dead
and the Pleiades overhead
ramming the pile of shit instead
roadkill
but the shades are cool.

Down by the shed
the rabbit I named
Arnie
and in the box with the other dancing star
not as bright as Sirius by far
red eyed on hiatus
her hair matching
no free lunch
just an absence of air.

Down by the shed
the twins are fall
in the eastern sky at dawn
and the fox is silent
in vanity I warn
the horn in the wax of the crown
the Lion growls.

Down by the shed
the grey skies torn
in darkness rounded the ration
the fingers fitting the glove
of the skin because
artificial being born
to replace the original
mistaken before
every copy.

Down by the shed
after the occult of blood red
the glow lost in shadow
and will come again
that second hand shine
sinister in wine
weeping
no contact.

Down by the shed
the rabbit still dead
roadkill from the northern
most light
tip top
ship shape
occlusion great
horseless and paved
the trail leading to the shed.

They

are good
with tools...

and have mapped all the stars
but one they lose.

Roadkills end trails
are tails.