Wild

I spent a day in Nature’s nose
Through which the breath of Beauty blows:
So cool and full of Life at first,
Then hot and Deathly and reversed.
I was a fowl from poultry farms:
So lost in wild, so in alarm.
I’d walked in as an urbanite
And felt the forest close in tight:
So twitchy as an itchy shawl.
It shot me like a cannonball
Into the sprawling chicken coop,
Into the falling pigeon poop
That’s sometimes called Society,
That’s mostly a variety
Of cancerous malignancy
Of humankind’s ascendancy.