UNTO THE WILD — a poem
the cub has no vision of future no mind to entertain time ahead
such concepts are taught then furrowed between brows
knotted thick over time’s passing, kitting naivete
for a world in which she is no longer young
where she cannot rely on beauty nor willpower
her body, atrophied like a vehicle dense with rust,
threatens to strand her softened mind
who shall deem experience a sufficient brace against the toils of time?
not i, in a body 24 or 42, struggling to defend my lucidity
too often engulfed by an inner world gone mad
wrought with plagues of anxiety and overwhelm
shuddering and pit, by myself, against others
praying for ferality to give me strength
i will myself to heed neither yonder nor yore
bid the courtesy of presence: a radical act of forgiveness,
for i lack the strength to suffer these experiences at once
it is an impossible madness to thrive in a mind housing hurt outlived
