Go feral, heed the call

Day 90

do·mes·ti·cated
dəˈmestiˌkātəd/
adjective
  1. 1.
    (of an animal) tame and kept as a pet or on a farm.
    “domesticated dogs”
fe·ral
ˈfi(ə)rəl,ˈferəl/
adjective
  1. 1.
    (esp. of an animal) in a wild state, esp. after escape from captivity or domestication.
    “a feral cat”
    Photo by Michelle Johnsen

    Photo by Michelle Johnsen

    I am no pet.
    No one’s lap dog,
    begging at the feet of her master for food, water, love.
    There is no collar around my neck, no leash to hold me back.
    I am not tame, mild mannered, subdued.
    I am snarling, salivating muscle, coiled like a spring.
    Ready to
    snap.
    My water runs free down the mountains,
    my food is rare, ruby blood organs steaming in the open air.
    My love comes wild, under a bright white moon.
    Howling, ravaged, riled.
    I am no farmer’s horse,
    back swayed under the weight of rider,
    heavy, oppressive, broken.
    Running circles around rings,
    eyes locked, head down.
    I am unbridled energy,
    heaving flanks and stamping feet.
    My hooves fly,
    over water, over stone,
    over earth.
    Body free,
    unsullied,
    by saddle, harness,
    whips.
    I am no house cat,
    belly full,
    catnip stupor.
    Gazing longingly through windows,
    soft paws clutching air.
    My claws are razor sharped talons tipped with barbs,
    I am lean, stealthy,
    dangerous.
    My meals are served
    on soil plates,
    feathers, fur, bones, and blood,
    Fear on four legs,
    Free.
    I am no sheep,
    following flock,
    shepherd tended,
    stupid, afraid.
    I am Bighorn,
    Nimble, fast on mountaintop,
     shepherded by wind and rain,
    green grass,
     open sky.
    Courageous, bold, and brave.
    photo by Wilson Alvarez

    photo by Wilson Alvarez

    I am no cog in this monster machine,
    there is no noose around my neck, no stockings on my thighs.
    I am not swayed by their shiny things,
    I do not do as I am told.
    My life does not tick by
    one
    minute
    at
    a
    time,
     tired, listless,
    bored and
    Dead.
    My body is free,
    to move, to dance, to walk to sing.
    My neck wears the mark of a thousand sun kissed summers,
    chocolate freckles,
    golden tan.
    My thighs are strong and sultry, smooth skin against smooth skin.
    they are things of beauty,
    let me jump, and run, and swim.
    This life is roaring waterfalls and burning volcanoes,
    Insect song on summer nights,
    sharp crisp cold of freshly fallen
    snow,
    loud, quiet,
    lush,
    serene.
    photo by Wilson Alvarez

    photo by Wilson Alvarez

    I am wailing war cry,
    and hushed whisper,
    looking out,
    and turning in.
    Living,
    Locked in passion,
    with this wild,
    wide, and wonderful world.
    Go feral,
    undomesticate,
    rewild.
    Heed the call.
    Thank you for listening,
    Love,
    Natasha
    photo by Yank

    photo by Yank

    Thank you Sarah H. for your intoxicating words in our guest post  tonight. Delicious, earthy. real. May we be consumed by our passions. I love you.

    The following is by Sarah H.

    you are my lover:

    we play

    “Earth’s crammed with heaven… But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.”

    Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh

    “The supreme guru played with time and space, as a child plays with bubbles.”

    Paramahansa Yogananda, Autobiography of a Yogi

    “And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.”

    Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

    “If I were rain; that joins sky and earth, that otherwise never touch, could I join two hearts as well?”

    ― Tite Kubo, Bleach, Vol. 01: The Death and The Strawberry

    the moon was full

    and there were storms-

    that passed us in our sleep…

    some awoke

    buckets!

    water roaring into rotted eaves.

    a kiss to see the blanket leaves;

    the last jeweling,

    blossomed,

    hard-warm, red trees

    before the skeleton months…

    exposed arborous limbs-

    scratch feelings into things…

    and from the elements, all one and unattached;

    chipped finger nails,

    tight neck and back

    half cold-

    half hot- holds

    the memories

    that spark and jolt

    our strands and bands

    of dna

    the world

    so very

    in

    us…

    while every lover i’ve ever loved

    feeds me an alluring

    bursting bud;

    fichus sprawling

    sound of foot chewing cud

    crisping

    bio exo

    textures

    fall movement…

    spliced analog reels

    fast forward and rewound to-

    the steep slope we sporadically scaled.

    hopping out!

    to keep our horny hands concealed-

    up

    and out of breath…

    to the top, far from town-

    4-ways blinking

    bliss back down…

    smoky now november

    saturation clouds-

    two shrieking shadows

    iconic undiscovered owls

    on the rims and panels fold

    listening to the radio’s slow molecule tone

    each other’s radio…

    to “noise against fascism”

    ‘roll-our-eyes’ bands

    flash

    back

    laughter

    sickeningly sweet sex

    all over the seats

    the stars

    the lakes

    the roads

    the roads

    the roads

    `borderless eyes…

    healing walks before all the new neighborhoods blocked the sky.

    two-twined in one sleeping bag…

    smelling you for the first time.

    transportational,

    magnetic,

    imagination talk-

    funneling, low lit days…

    jet streams some amnesia-sweatered

    weather;

    long experimental lies in bed…

    dyes of the eternal-

    fix us-

    break us-

    beings…

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