I would prefer to be at the edge of it all.
Not on the path strewn with tidiness
Where opinions lay their slabs of concrete
Burying our fears beneath
To make them go away.
Nature looks for nothing but itself.
I no longer crave the salve of nicety.
Sitting on the grass by the lonesome oak,
The ground beneath me alive with earth’s secrets,
I am part of that savage paradigm.
Not the other. Sanitised. Dead.