some parts of me are free, and those parts are necessarily dark
i mean it. no light originates from inside my head. only from the outside. i need light to make sense. in my guts, darkness. i like it.
i get to thinking about creation; how pitiably hungry we are about it.
my free parts cannot be read by anyone but me
do not be threatened
make no mistake, i like to share
all the things that other people know about each other, all the things that keep us familiar, i like that too
and inside, all the while, i’m routinely writing what cannot be seen
i throw letters out to a black pond
i paddle out in vigorous sentences
i am seasick with words sometimes
i want to harbor something challenging, unbearable
and bring it to light
when it’s done i am relieved; i look down at it
my freedom is full of error, fearful, and always changing.
all the little things that make the big things
happen in blackness
i am from a dark, wet, place
smelling like an animal