by Stefon Napier04 Sep 2014
Away I go
over the wall
away from the shuffling of people, the discarding of sense, and the rage of piety.
Dense throngs of culture like condensed blood tied together.
But like a coon I go scuttling over the wall.
The cities and tremors on one side and the silent hills on the other.
Silent because the sky is mute and there are no eagles whose shadows can sweep the ground and sometimes nullify the day.
The wild is at all times like that. Forgetting and forgiving with the same instinctual cruelty.