Quarry II

In the motion of it all

The pieces of who I am all jitter, and shift

hands - eyes - lips - mind - purpose

all nervous, unstable,

unwilling to face stillness -

stillness - stillness - stillness

is the most fearful thing of all.

So I hunt for a hunt for a hunt for a hunt for a hunt

for motion itself -

chasing my own tail,

tailing my own tracks,

hoping not to catch myself,

hunting only to keep myself

from facing my reflection,

in a creek which is only calm

if I stay still - if I stay still - if I stay still

the muddy water might settle, and

the pieces of who I am might fall into

a picture of a person who

is not so kind nor good nor true

as the one I can pretend to be

on the hunt - on the move - in the blur,

through the brush, and stream all astir

which conceals, and holds,

and shades, and enfolds

all of me

from myself

and you.

*

I am

Sisyphus - one with his own wretched stone,

Daedalus - lost in his labyrinth-land's law;

Artemis - circling tracks that are her very own;

Ouroboros - fleeing his own cursed, gaping maw.

*

To hunt a thing is ever to become another's prey,

is it not?

we choose and chase our quarries

because we are in turn hunted

by the need to be

the kind of person

who chases something.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This poem is a rougher and expanded version of a piece I submitted yesterday (I am linking that one below). I love my final version, but wanted to include this raw, stream-of-consciousness interpretation too; I just felt it includes some things that I really wanted to share, but which didn't make it into the other one. Anyhow, thanks so much for reading - wishing you a truly wonderful day, friend. :)