Feel It?

What is it, what really is

It that can never be tamed,

Never domesticated?

No, darlings, not violence.

The raging mob is among

The most domesticated

Activities known, only

Exceeded perhaps by war.

What’s more social than a mob,

More tame than well-trained soldiers?

Stampeding cattle aren’t wild.

Leviathan alone was

As monster, as something else,

An excuse for violence,

Accused of inciting it,

But only ever vicious

When wild with desperation.

And ah, that’s it, isn’t it?

To be wildly desperate

And otherwise uncaring,

To not be obedient,

Disobedient, or thrilled

By righteous anger, screaming

Strike, it is permitted us!

You can’t tame desperation

In the solitary beast,

Can’t tame an indifference

To your civilization.

There’s a little wildness left

In every domesticate,

A longing for emptiness

Which brings the wild peacefulness.

There’s a little left in you,

Yet. Pray you don’t much feel it.