i write, or wish i could
to right myself.

look! up in the sky!
a bird? a plane? no?
the moon instead!
but no - a face.

the writer
come to finish off the page.


<- - ->

thought as fuel.


i have had the need to make the world out of work.
call it art.
call it travel.
call it simply thought.

I want...
to lie among the animals & other beasts
to wallow in the filth in disregard
spittle-flecked, dripping tooth
and red-tinged foam

I want to unburden my self in a great howl
a painful roar of hunger, anger, and vulgar strength

I want to not know, to be more
like those uncaring, unknowing creatures
wild and free of all but the jungle's law
fighting feeding bleeding
breeding killing stealing
All's fair. Without love, without war.

I want...
to know what it means
to be human.