You have wild in your chest.
It’s angry, caged, and restless;
beating the bars hard, reminding
the damned of the damnation.
Let these bars turn to sand, I
always wanted this, but I’ve just now
got the heart to scream it.
Deep in the night, where the graves
of this Midwestern Kansas town
spread vast into its own heart
like black pollen, wood rot. Lord
of the plains, regal and wind spun,
allow a small moment of silence.