Polis Jungle

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I am tropical.

The temperate fall together as gathered mist in a hissed, pitter-patter voice.

Vanilla. Cayenne. Cacao. Ginger.

One sweet droplet falls to my skin from above.

I peer out through the rattan and find myself here.

Others plan. While some may, most won’t. 

The blanks

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To live in the dark shadows
At the soft end of the long, hard day

To lay in the calm 
Of the exposed, rocky underside

To linger forever
Tho’ the shoulders beg for home sweet home

To learn, though blinded
To be found in the lost of it all

Mistaken Wolf

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 A desolate of some sort
Wilderness to me
And my coat never warm enough
So many trees
Too tall to show their green to me
Too numerous to let me gain a path or compass mark
The roots of them I cannot get from under my feet
The dead moss but slippery still sees my every step at risk
I am tall and I’d fall hard
Who would know it in the dim
The dim

The dim harasses my eyes
Hamstrings my mind
So I refuse to see
Still I know
The wolf watches
Ambery eyes and charcoal black back there and sure-footed
The dim and the fog bother him none, confuse him not
Funny I fear though he will not bite me
Poison I am to him
Still he knows
I think I am alone

Electric Still

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I slid into the city from the valley and

Saw then felt the flash of who I am

Now and 

All those years ago

I am electric and

I make mountains offer dares

They hope I’ll accept 

But don’t believe I will

Unknowingly I do and 

I did

It rained warm on me there

I smelled ozone and

Stared at the tallest peak hoping

For one more dare

I left with my eyes down

Electric still

Then looking East