My Primal Veins

There is some primal thing

in winter’s air that 

begs me to search alone

for my own survival.

Challenges me to

become an animal

In the search for

warmth, food, shelter of pines.

It is primal that I need.

The alluring summon of freedom.

An instinct comes

to live inside of me

like a lion’s hunt.

I am wild.

I am free.

I am not polished

Or dressed in silk.

I wear no rosy lips

or painted eyes.

I do not answer to the death

call of society.

I let it all go

to feel the cedar branches

break in my hands.

To light a fire

and hear cedar crackle as

my own song.

The gray sky reaches

around me like love from

everyone that I’ve ever known

as I become

the wild thing that lives

In my veins.

I am hunter.

I am prey.

I am.

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