Fox, running alone, her long body streaming in the dark
January 21st, 2010
I was Exploring,
not interested in learning about myself
as much as I was eager to cram in all the wildness and sex
I felt I’d been missing. There was nothing to which
I’d say no. Every decision seemed
drenched in dark
glamour.
…
But my point
is the mind. When I plumb mine
in those moments at work, I’m blind and
burrowing, delving into field upon textured field,
through the crackly and the pliant. I finger and pass over
the knotty grains where the mental fabric is eating itself, tangled up
like the finest puddled gold chain. I’m looking for something to swim up
with, some hot coal to hold. I don’t find it. There was something I wanted in
my life, intently, for a long, long time. It was like a rough wind beating me
to the edge of a cliff. It’s not as though that quality of desiring can simply
slacken off and stay low. It has to be satisfied or relinquished entirely.
It cannot be contained, only extinguished or fully fed.
And then nothing comes to replace it. You can’t
fill a void that large. The wanting pushed
me to the brink, and I
plummeted off.
