insomnet

The waterfall trail through the gorge doesn’t
open til mid-May. The steps are muddied,
too slick in April, the chance of slipping
greater. But here’s the thing – I did not ask
protection from stupidity and most
especially not mine. Doesn’t everyone
drive in this country – the risk inherent
in roads dwarfing a wet set of stone stairs –
no? What I’m trying to say is why not
let me choose my own beauty-strewn route to
harm? Harm of dripping slate. All good has gone
off. Even loving boys is fraught. Wintered
rot thaws. Grown, mine still petrify me – thoughts
expiring under fell froth and bone noise.