Feral

My geography had no anchor.I panned comfort, like gold, out of anonymity.I floated, hovered, and breached underground spaces.

I’d hang out in dance clubs late at nightand dance and drink. I’d go to sex-shopsto buy whippets and fog my brain outbefore crashing to sleep in some dreary motel.

I created taxonomies to collect these spaces.I caught them in nets and killing jars.Their hard bodies pinned in the glass boxesof my aura.

Sometimes I want to vanquish them.Sometimes I burn sage.Sometimes I go all fury and feraland break all the glass.