disorientation

I lose myself in the woods alone,

following my hypnotic steps. Heavy

thoughts unwind to a fork in the trail,

and I go left, heart racing uphill,

penny taste in mouth. I wonder

if I can leave myself, leave

nothing behind except a fading imprint,

old tire tracks pressed into dirt.

An accelerating urge overwhelms me.

I pick up a rock and feel its cold weight,

reel back and throw and it strikes a tree

and beautiful bark chunks fly.

I throw another and another, not quenching

the animal urge rising. I move

on instinct, grabbing a stick and swinging

at random branches. Its soft whooshing

slices air and brings congested emotions bursting

to the surface. It breaks,

and I toss the pieces away from my trembling hands.

I stop to stare at a stream. No idea how long.

There is silence except, above me in the trees,

the scraping of doomed leaves refusing to fall.

What happened before the walk, before I was here?

Nothing but gaping grey fog. This lacuna

of memory must have meaning. My mind is going

over the edge of something; I feel it.

My phone rings, and I toss it against sharp rocks.

Shattered fragments of plastic and metal

reflect the sun then drift away

on the unrelenting current. I turn

my back on the stream and hear a hoarse

cawing in a nearby ravine. I peer

down into the dip and see a crow

perched on the skull of a small animal

like a fox or a fawn freshly dead.

Its beak pierces the flesh of the neck

to excavate the meat that remains.

We lock eyes. It wants to tell me something.

It spreads its giant wings and rises.

I am compelled to follow, committed, running up.

I keep my gaze locked on the bird

until I skid to a stop at the edge

of a sheer rock face,

and dust continues my journey, floating

into the aqua-blue abyss of a quarry,

lake rippling hundreds of feet below.

Another impulse seizes and keys and wallet fly

Bills flutter out like injured butterflies.

The crow caws three sharp enthusiastic bursts

that shock me so I nearly tilt over the edge.

It sits on the post of an old fence watching.

I pace, part of my mind screaming to stop

- gone too far could find someone get help -

but these bursts of ecstatic release

cannot be ignored. I must do the unconscionable

to silence conscience. I must break reality

and become real.

Under the crow's perch, I spot

a rusty fragment of barbed wire lying

in the dirt waiting for me.

I approach and the bird points down with its beak.

I nod and take the wire and jab it

into the palm of my left hand and yank,

and a thick diagonal line fills

with blood unreasonably dark and warm,

and I drop the wire and stare,

expecting a jolt of pain, but instead,

a crippling wave of euphoria

brings me to my knees.

The crow hops and croaks and rattles, and I feel

excruciatingly alive.

I wrap my shirt around my hand, shouting

joyful expletives at the clouds.

I must have more.

This is the way; I've found it. Better

to lose an eye than for my whole body

to rot in hell. This makes perfect sense

here in the sticky region between.

So I take a deep breath and jam

my finger into my eye socket.

Tight at first, warm optical fluid

trickles down my arm as I push,

hook behind, and break through a barrier

then pull hard, fighting darkness.

It protrudes and I brace for the final rip

then see blood dripping onto my trembling hand,

which holds the jelly-like eye.

Before I can think, a black blur swoops

and my hand is empty, and with my left eye

I watch the thief carry my right over the quarry

and drop it into the water,

a tiny white globe bobbing in a sea of blue.

I exhale, cough, swaying. I know now

what the crow is trying to tell me.

I know it stronger than anything else.

This is not my body, not my reality.

I am somewhere else, something else, something

more. And in response to this thought,

all the colors of the world

bloom with vibrance, and sweet adrenaline

embraces me, and three words throb

in my head like a drumbeat.

I am awake,

echoing across the quarry.

I am awake!

There is power and promise in this voice.

My feathered savior circles and hooks

its claws into my shoulder,

vocalizing to the rhythm:

I am awake!

I see a jagged incisor cliff

jutting over the lake and I stagger

out onto the tip. The crow

knows what I must do. She whispers

it into my ear, and I obe.

Weak but not hurt, I lean

forward and laugh as I plunge.

And just before impact,

the water transforms.