The Wilderness Inside


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.

This entry was posted in Art in Nature, mindworks, poetry, thinking in words, Wild Life and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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