mcsweeney

As writers, we act out against convention,
and despite prior attachments and strong family values
we look, continually, for new and indiscreet relationships.
Maybe they start in the produce aisle at that grocery store.
Perhaps we find them in places on the internet where
no one knows we go.
Occasionally they form in the seedier, dark corners of a
gender specific adult establishment.

When I was younger and willing to take more risks,
I was insatiable.
I'd wake up next to words whose names I did not know.
Other times, I'd spend hours savoring each
delicate curve
of each
delicate letter
of each alternate definition.

Lately, I find myself to coy ad too celibate.
Afraid of catching something or of being found out.
Since I am a writer, people wouldn't judge my promiscuity.
They would simply praise me for my prowess.
Yet, full of self-loathing, I go on feeling some how cheapened
by the exploits from so long ago.