Hunting Season     I went hunting for a heart wrote about problems always the reflection a stark naked hurting for the long things in life.   I went hunting for a moral in a crowd of smothered stars knowing it takes time to surrender misgivings.   I went hunting for a reason discovered sentences lying in green pastures late at night blanketed by darkness like a squirrel splayed by the road I expose another breakdown.   I went hunting for a promise climbed stairwells and ladders searched for language not yet spoken on a brilliant slivered afternoon witnessed the death of conversation.   I went hunting for an answer always crouched over my problems like a private detective magnifying the issues make the meaning of obscurity even smaller.   I went hunting for acceptance. I am not alone.   ©2008 I.B. Iskov