the wilderness inside
There is no escaping the wild.
It is everywhere, in cars
and in airplanes at 40,000 feet.
Inside my head are vines of forgotten jungles
And microbes more ancient than the first people.
The wild is in the walls
The decay and generation, germination and death.
no inside or outside, only layers.
No life of order,
only a prison of sterile artifice
built with false dreams of separation
That shatter invisibly with each soft breath.
Myriad Ways 