Author Information
Wild Child
Under smuggler's moon I'm asking fresh blood
to tow the line through turbid mud,
The sight of the digital world has us reeling
to take furious position against gods of new,
The handlers of this common place have led us
to a state of chaotic grace and circle takes the square,
Chaos' hositle gifts come into my life burning with it
all those calm moments I grew tired of,
Thoughts of love, Memories of childhood drugs
Bring me the handlers
Bring me the hide
Bring me something so majestic
it calls my name in threes
wishing it could lie
a natural death
surrounded by the scenery of greener things,
Listen to other people
The silent guile of others has me thinking to myself:
"Is the crown made of bone or meerschaum hollowed stone?
If I were to live in the wood would that be living alone?
To stand where beast stood in a land often forgot
could be where the weak never often would,
Is that where life would take me?
The monotony breaking iron around me
where wood now once again overtakes sharp teeth,
A wild eyed victory
waiting for the wild childs
living in the leaves"
