There was a wolf I used to run from.
Could never make it to the door in time
for my safety to be assured.
Clearly he’s still here, he is my surround.

He is my surround.
Apparently he still haunts my rhymes
always making me repeat myself.
Or was I the one to disappear
into the wood?
Does it make me more or less human?
In spite of the fang marks on my wrists;
In spite of the fang marks on my wrists.

In dream, the scent of madness
stirs a fearful mind to action.
Fawn legs tremble in anticipation
of all I cannot outrun.

And what if I were raised by wolves?


My life-line moves along, moves the ridge
of a cornea.
Feeling-eyes twitch
according
to mountainous meanings.
In the dark of dream
who made me literate?
So I could smell,
wait I mean, read, the scripts
of sandcastles
carved by maternal grandparents.
Dragging their knees through the muck.
In mudflats, and in my-

imagination.
To recognize what can’t be seen by light,
or in your tracking reasons;
and all that could ever come from it
was that I was ‘Pattern Doubt.’

“It would be good to break,
to take another way.”
A collision beyond mind,
it’s the binds of confluence
to find pleasure in the tethers on our wrists.
To the planetary pact
of paths our ancestors walk.
Here we Are. Here we Are,
and maybe seeing ain’t the half of it.

Our words for it
will never make enough sense,
their wake will world the moments
we will remember years from now.

Why must we compare all that’s good to humanity?
Are we the joys of our history made conscious?
Trust that you’re becoming all the more human
as we carry on that promise.

What if I were raised by wolves?
There is only no-one to worship-
What if I were raised by wolves?
Dead gods and dead masters.

What if I were raised by wolves?
What if I were raised by wolves?
There is only no-one to worship-
Dead gods and dead masters.

What if I were raised by wolves?
What if I were raised by wolves?
What if I were raised by wolves?
What if I were raised by wolves?