1.
His mind could not begin to think
Of all the things that drug him down,
That did him in,
That ground him out,
That spit at him and left, bemused.
2.
He went a'hunting for his health,
His mental health,
His wearied heart all humbled
By the numbing of not knowing,
By the shopworn people staring,
By the careworn and uncaring.
3.
He took his gun in case the woods wherein he looked for life
Were loaded,
Pounce-able,
Booby-trapped,
Trip-wired,
Or mined with bright young mushrooms,
Luminous unto death.
4.
He took his failings with him, one by one.
They notched his only gun.
They grew mysteriously essential.
They clouded all the Wednesdays
Of his trust, imagination, passion, need, fulfillment, and desire.
5.
He drew a bead on something
Rustling deep behind the hidden leaves,
The underbrush still brushing,
Breathing, sighing, listening, seething.
He took his aim and fired!
The shot ran clear,
And scattered all creation in its
Mindless mood and myth.
6.
He knelt down low to feel the pelt,
The blood, the stain upon the throbbing Earth.
He put it gently back,
He wished it back,
Within his mind he wished it back.
It wasn't happiness he'd hunted, after all;
It wasn't worth the trouble;
It wasn't worth this time, this life,
This greasy, partial moment,
This frozen island in the woods of truth;
It wasn't worth the pain he hadn't planned to feel.
7.
He took his failings home with him.
They trailed behind like ghosted shadows,
Hovering lonely, low,
Beside the soggy, sullen moisture of the saturated soil.
He'd go a'hunting once again, he said.
He'd gone a'hunting all his life,
For loss,
For life,
For innocence,
For happiness and hope.
He'd do it all again, he said,
And, as he said,
The gates of the darkening woods sealed everything behind.