I’m going to mix it up here

Why should someone want to look like a wolf?

I need to get this down, in textual form.  Why not.  There are some things I could write about.   Bats, for example, about white nose syndrome. Or perhaps about the melting ice caps

sopping wet

towel of

these things are some of my background.  They are the things I am working inside.  They and the moment by moment updates about this and that horror, elsewhere, not here, not in my exact moment.

There you stood at the top of ordeals of every kind

My horrors are different, they are manufactured.  One of them is the white door on the side of the trailer-home in the open field next to woods where, at the moment of trees, the light turns into darkness.

the priest cleaved

When I opened the door and stepped inside everything was red and smelled like bile.

the air

Or…

the fires

kindled

I decided not to enter the door and instead found my way into the woods and into a thicket of sorts.

of the demon of the night?  No one knows.  A pile of troubles, shame.

And here I am, incapable of making my way through the thicket around me.  Spiny branches.

But thicket, I do not know your species.

forgive me…

There is nothing but shines though it shine darkness;

Inside of this thicket, if I crouch down, I can find all of the things that I made with my own hands, such a tiny pile,

nothing but answers; they are caught in the net of their voices

valueless?  can it be monetized, can it be sold for a profit?

the gunmetal air has come alive

of course not, keep me in this thicket, I like it in here.

alive with birds

and anyway, I am tired of scraping up my own blood, if I stay still, I no longer need to scrub the earth.

The pure touch of the spirit

there is nothing more valuable than this.

We come to know when aging/and by the coldest silence are clutched

—-

quotes are from Amina Cain, Laynie Browne, Clarice Lispector, Marquis de Sade, Shearwater, Blue Water White Death, Xiu Xiu, Robinson Jeffers, Ingeborg Bachmann