Wildlife

It calls, does the wild (and not only from London) –
But it gets my voicemail and leaves no message after the beep
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzNor a messenger
– What the beep?

Strong vocal cords has the wild; bar chords stronger yet –
Still I cannot hear its message.

(For some odd or G-d reason I think it’s more
A problem with my ears than its tongue.)

It grows on you, does the wild, and you can only hope to

zzzzzzzzzGrow on it.

Like a dizzy spinster it is ungroomed: hair
Tangled; cheeks
Naked; paintless
Lips; lipless
Derrières.

Unlike an elevator filled with great-aunts and queen-wannabes
Pampered in Hegai’s spa, no fumes or perfumes emanate from
Its being – only the smell of nature unsprayed, untouched by art

Official substance.

It’s a wildflower and a wild guess:
A wildflower because nothing can stop its growth;
A wild guess because no one can predict its path.

You are afraid of its potential: you want to flip the letter,
The Double-You –
But were you really born to be in sipid, in control,
To live in postproduction?

Don’t walk down its path –
zzzzzzzzzzzThere isn’t any!
But run along its every curve, over untrimmed edges and
Tall borders, ivy crawling inhibitive, inhibition crawling away.
Bust through convention centers and concession
Stands. Cross-don’t-cross? I’m never cross and crosses

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzAre for roads

Life is wild: a wild look in its eyes, a wild beard on its face –

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzDo you want to tame it or live it?