no stone unturned

there may be silence here
but rest assured
i've left no stone unturned.

some may castigate me for this, harshly
but i cannot live a life of bland
obsequiousness-

i cannot creep like moss over
the surface of things and sit,
hands folded like an egyptian statue.

i am a tunneler
by trade, i am a rodent with a nervous heart
and a keen mind that never stops whirring.

i will infinitely delve, inverted sysyphean am i,
for i cannot be convinced there is a bottom
to things, but rather an everlasting, murky fond:

all nature is like the tumescent, layered
soil: richly creeping with comlex, ethereal beasts
and strewn with gems at every tier:

the self is a deep, dark well
life is escaping that capture
thought is tunneling.

i am a stone at the bottom of a mellifluous pit
i am a mole, scraping at the edge with my paw
i am transformed by my desire to escape the boundaries of myself.

occasionally, with tooth and nail, i will break
out through to the clammy and sodden void,
and i will scrape at the dense nothingness of absurdity-

haphazard but strong, penetrating, and entirely direct-
until i find the bottom of another well to lie in, in hopes
of finding, in that hollow vacuole, a stone

to turn
and wonder at,
in awe.