It

Updated: Sep 12, 2021



I tried to subdue it in the humid weight and rank of the Indonesian jungle.

It grew thick and heavy.

I tried to starve it in the high windswept cold of the Rockies.

It grew restless and wild.

I tried to wash it away in the harsh infinity of the Pacific.

It grew ominous and deep.

I tried to purge it in the strain and violence of the desert wars.

It grew bold and grave.

Then, unhinged, I turned to face it.

And it hurled itself at me like a monster.

It was not a demon as I had supposed.

It was a longing. A thirst.

It is this pen. This paper. This ink.

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