I’m hunting once more, roaming the mysterious interior,
farther and farther into the forest of memory, the thicket of heart,
traipsing around in the moonlit under-woods of my past,
flashlight in one hand, Smith and Wesson in the other,
seeking out something behind this bush, that mossy tree,
trudging down every cragged ravine, or sliding along a boiling stream,
dredging for aged boogies, ancient risen,
ready to shoot to kill, but probably missing again,
slogging, sweat dripping, pulse pounding,
losing track of any best way to get back,
no bread crumb trail, this is never a fairy tale,
farther into the jungle, hung grimly with choking vines,
I’m at the stalking of some sort of dark something,
forever and ever

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