Real, wild
poem
From pretty and presented
TO WILD
Wailed empty
Carrying all the days
where I paled into insignificance
against them
Is that why I write? (lets not pull at
that thread)
Wanting to be seen, and tugged on
Reached for
Words that matter to small
numbers of people
The caught sewing, trapped by those
Who push fists through wildflowers
Denying any of us ever bled
