It comes down to this – a “long walk in the dark” – all smeared in bear’s blood. A hunger, a thirst, and a desperate exhaustion. I grasp. I hang on. I plead. I am breathing, I think.
And there in the blood is the soil. The bitter, the oils and the ash. I start to chew my breath.
It is then I begin with the dreams. To hallucinate, I shout words and weep mumbles, which shape image, erupt forms, and I enter. Kaleidoscopic hallways, enormous caverns and seas. I refract and am drawn. I am fragments. I ray.
The world begins, or begins again, estranged and available. Shattered thus and malformed, it readies. A me. I swoon, I step forth, I mutter and trace. I become colors and fluids and I flow and I fill. The world recedes in its changing – I give chase, and start seeing again.
Evoking desire of indifference-foes.
I stand up with a body, a medium (as if it mattered), and approach, thus affecting its molding of me. I content.
Here is where the story goes, splotched along this trail. Caught in weeds and nettles, drinking mud and rain. Clay that shapes the tablets, work inscribed by bones.
The labor of erosion that brings the doubting truths to light. The heaving lung and shriveled spleen, muscle scored by mind’s lightning.
The moment that the moment keeps occurring.
(this piece inspired by the following: Larry Levis’”Coda: A Word to the Wicked”; Galway Kinnell’s “The Bear” and Phil Levine’s “They Feed They Lion”)