I Should Have A PHD In Cartography

I Should Have A PHD In Cartography

Half the world away, these hands grasp

at a sense of home that you don’t want to leave

but I don’t want to stay

in love with a revolving door

and my heart has crept back up my sleeve,

bleeding freedom from palms

to the tips of these fingers,

each drip is art on canvas

mapping out the miles my wild will takes

in a different direction to yours.

Animal, Vegetable, Mineral

Animal, Vegetable, Mineral

I am the hunted,

scent carries on the wind, tastes

of a three course meal

on the tongue,

we meet at the waterhole

to savour the other use for these lips,

preparing for the chase with palate cleanser

they would think we are but grazing creatures

but this prolonged gaze is sizing up sinews, how they execute

movements with the bones,

as nature meets wild beast

my flesh is the feast

upon which you will later feed,

with sadistic grip of incisors,

pinned neck to Savannah dust,

coats collide in frantic lust

as to evolution’s displeasure

I plead guilty.

Taste of Heaven

Taste of Heaven

Don’t kid yourself,

this barely ruffled my feathers,

my faith belongs

to the way the wind

strokes between my open wings

with nerves left trembling,

but sometimes even wild things

rest for a while

and still the world

has ample love to go around.

All creatures adapt to the changing seasons

and these sharp claws

would be constrained

by an existence in captivity,

a birds eye view is only bestowed

to those blessed to be free

and I was born an untamed spirit

touching everything

and nobody.

Arm’s Length

Arm’s Length

Whilst the wild animal

forages

and scours the landscape

as if by natural instinct,

we humans

order home deliveries

and scour social media

as if natural insecurity

was a sign of intellectual evolution,

just like how

we cause the pollution

that’s killing the planet

yet claim to love it;

but most of us

looking at a pretty flower

would not know it’s poison.

La Loba

La Loba

When all was most astray

and I neither felt life’s colours

nor tasted love’s sounds,

from deep within my person

penetrated a soul-pained cry

to the bone-woman.

Oh Earth Mother,

the One Who Knows,

you see my hollow parts,

their rot,

their lifeless branches,

snap them where they spoil

and build from them

a bonfire

to warm my apathetic splinters

and regenerate this flesh.

For I will walk across the desert

and wade through

the river beneath the river

just to knock on your old weathered door

and offer you sing over my bones.