As the tamed horse
still hears the call of her wild brothers
and as the farmed goose flaps hopeful wings
as his sisters fly overhead,
so too, perhaps,
the wild ones amongst us
are our only hope in calling us back
to our true nature.
Wild ones
who have not been turned to stone
by the far-reaching grasp of the empire
and its programme of consumer sedation,
the killing of imagination.
Where, my friends,
have the wild ones gone?
Joel McKerrow
‘Come to the edge’,
He said. They said,
‘we are afraid’.
‘Come to the edge’,
He said. They came.
He pushed them, and
they flew.
Guillame Apollinaire