Hole Fiction

Down, down, down,

Into the Earth.

Cool at first, but

warming to the touch,

with every inch,

every foot,

every yard.

The soil surrounds,

Envelops, and

Holds you close

in Gaia’s depths.

Deeper, deeper, deeper,

What bliss, what

Ecstasy, what

Crushing pressure.

Filling the earth,

Filling you, a

Union with sediment.

You seek release,

But there is none.

Only the deep.

The dark night air, somewhere in Illinois, was penetrated only by the industrial sounds of excavated emptiness. The knight was cold, and watched on as the empty hole in his heart was being filled whole with the hole’s dirt. Tears rolled dow his cheek like pebbles, and his heart sank like the median elevation above sea level of Illinois. 

But the hole in America just continued to grow. 

That night, the knight had planned to celebrate Thanksgiving with his whole, insufferable family, but the hole drew him in. He could not say no to the hole, and inside of it he lost himself. He glimpsed what could have been and what would be, inside that hole, and yet seeing the whole of the universe could not raise his spirits. He wondered if he could fill that hole; if perhaps he was the knight that night who could undo this unholy hole. 

We made love for so long I lost track of time. With every moment, it felt like I would be bulldozed for hours more.

350G is my favorite digger. It knows that the way to a hole’s heart is through constant, relentless digging. That backhoe’s two-part articulated arm hits all the right spots as it plunges into my waiting openness.