The Hunt
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During the hunt I burned from myself for three days,
compacting like a lit tendril,
a lollipop-swirl snake.
Slept little and never became less afraid of the dark.
Dark images swirled behind my eyes;
I imagined myself under the belly of a large and hungry dog.
Sordid machinations prevailed under God’s clean feet.
Spit entered my mouth as though I had never known it.
It was only after I had accepted death
that life began to feed from me,
noisily,
like a wet-mouthed animal.
An animal that refuses to eat
when meat is available to it
would surely die in this forest.
And die alone.
Alone in the bathroom,
I bled from between my legs.
Only when it ended did I feel like I’d lost anything,
though I had been losing the entire time.