“The enormity of my desire disgusts me.” – Richard Siken

Three black swans in the lake, their necks
a crooning of flesh. Where is the fourth, I
am tempted to ask. In my head, people fall
like bombs into districts. Divisions, living
rooms within a venn diagram, or a pulse.
I imagine the cross-section of a bare, de-
boned swan, its wings flayed open for God’s
prying eyes. For the longest time, I denied
myself. Kept him shut at the door, his rap
on the door only to punctuate time. I didn’t
want to see him – his bare, unshaven face,
his hands full of nothing, the fidget and
whimper of someone who’s feeling sorry
for nothing in particular, which is to say
everybody who has ever lived. Now, I’m the
type of person who goes for strolls in the
park, hoping to see something I can turn
into a fixture upon a hairpinned board.
I watch the swans circle the lake, once,
twice, and double back. Their feathers,
wet and black, are unwritten words, the
inks still in the quill. Dust and glitter
still inside the nuke. If I see the garden
as a cluster of plants, I will lose sight of
everything. I will be looking at numbers
and figures, written on the back of my
head. Yes, my vision, too, will double,
around the well of my skull and see
what I told myself not to. The under-
belly of streets, the dark side of the
moon’s cold, unbeating heart; that
shadow cast by my desire upon the
entire Earth. I want to put the swan
back together again, see it wander
until my memory becomes a blur
of feathers, of doubling circles, of
water, water, water, water, water.

Freewriting Explanation: Every day, Valen shall use 5 minutes to write completely unprompted and uninterrupted, letting the words lead the way. There is no end purpose to each piece, but rather, the pieces are allowed to develop naturally in their own way. The pieces are then uploaded without edits.