The Coney Trilogy (Choerogyllius)
By Zac Dunn
Published Issue 125, May 2024
Robust Darker Taller
Hip hopping across the flat fields
Furrowed and turned but rallied by
The barking that calls and crawls up the walls
As the wee ones dream of carrots
And sunshine, so sublime
The hive mind connects to predators
And foes that the fear only knows
And grows slow like the GARLIC and sweet ONION bulbs
Gently lulling them all back to rest as the mites try
To snack upon their brisk pumping chests …
(5:11 a.m. | 2.18.24)
Bully Bunnies
In the fallow plane
Burrowing deeper
And braver than they knew
They could ever go
The conflagration of opinion was a
Stark beginning to
Upend and win the crux of the spin
As they take busy steps on
Feet that are never
Cleaner or meaner
Pitchforking the bundles
As hurdles in burrows Itch
The Hawk And The Coney
The firm earth walls of the tiny hole
Had grown much too cold and droll
To hold back the peeping mouths
Waking from Winter’s slumber
Down under the mighty Hemlock’s
Bows proudly they had avowed
To hold the watch over the cold winter
Lock that would put them in
With kind and kin
Only to nibble and dream of the
Sun and seeds that would
Litter the surface so moist and full of life
But as the sun began to wiggle the roots
Awake around the holler
The delicate scrapes would be made at midday when the
SUN was too high to hide what bounty lay
Await as the day would only be swallowed
By the moon whole
At first, the field appeared quite desolate
The CONEY pulled itself up and snapped its eyes
So as to survey and plot the most vital and precarious
First foray back into the frey
But not for the first of last they bounded forward to
Thump off the rot of sleep and old nuts that tasted of
Earth and wood
Today the tufts brought back would be the breakfast
The champions they had sired and guided in the maze
Of grass and dirt only to skirt certain peril
From many foes that the nose only knows
Upwind they would usually be very
Easy to smell before hearing the
Raucous clashing of the motor to metal to meat
Then the cursed CANINE fiends would charge
Huffing and puffing as the trolls
Make thunder clap snaps that tapped the dirt but
Occasionally would cause a dear friend or acquaintance to
Simply POP and STOP in place to only die as we run and
Find our hiding places
But this all pales in comparison for the commodore of the context
Who never seems to sleep and loves to eat us the most
They have a special way of knowing we know to move
Like a hive mind, we try to move in symphony
But simply seem to be here on this field
Both hungry for something we can see and feel
Something we can almost touch but never hold on to
As we run faster to find it
Fly higher and quieter looming as we swoon for the bit
Of toast we most need to feed the tiny ones
Who need us too
But always we know as they circle the space we share
They seem to know who isn’t well or who can tell
They are more scared and zag left rather than zig right
In pure impulse only to feel the embrace of the
Wind as it begins to descend so ominous
Like a blanket of onyx upon a grease fire
The moment is suspended as we glance a fleeting
Glimpse of a wing and a KLAW so regal
The talons sparkle with joy as the rays of the sun bounce back
Upon the gust of wind pushing back up
GLEN’S eyes open wide looking back down at us as though to say
Goodbye but at least they tried and we did too
But they were quicker and
so is the way
The hole that we call home shall not be our grave
For we shall die on the field of battle or
flying towards the heavens
Only to blink and kiss the sky
(7:59 a.m. | 12.11.23)
Summa facta incipit a minimis gradibus
(The greatest of feats begins with the smallest of steps)
Zac Dunn is a psycho-social mechanic, father, musician and dreamer. Check out his music and follow him on Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr.
Check out Zac’s April Birdy install, THE CURRENT, in case you missed it, or head to our Explore section to see more of his work.
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