You let the jungle in, dear
The steps leading up to your room
Are covered in dirt and plants
leaves brush past your face
And vines hang from the ceiling
It gets darker the deeper you go
And the growling gets louder as well
If you’re lucky you might catch a glimpse of a spotted pelt
And if you see a pair of luminescent eyes
All you’ll see is yourself reflected back in them

A wilderness is untamed,
nature bursts forth in all its glory;
without the guidance and destruction of
man.
It is beautiful,
a place where the soul is free,
although it may be in danger.


A wilderness is here.


Concrete slabs put upright
with windows;
facing more concrete.
Trees are sparse and trained,
grass short and restrained;
people reign.
An empty kingdom
of blank angry emotion,
called civilisation;
where the soul is definitely in danger.


It is our wilderness.

Dripping like dew drops from a hanging vine,
I was built to crawl and fall,
and scale the jungle floor.

Fear gripped primal synapse,
a quiver of spider’s silk bunching,
rippling outwards in a cranial pond.

Anticipation surrenders shape
to the dense jungle rhythms,
but reveals little of their depths.

Breathing stifles in cautious
and irregular release -
amidst the midnight black box.

—

The bone sharp tension uncoils,
as vine and fibre come undone.
The cycle remains unbroken.