what to salvage in the savage.

"I'l burn every bridge that I cross, to find some beautiful place to get lost"


I guess the wilderness lives without 'self reflection'
And I guess maybe in the wilderness, the nudging emptiness might be nourished by some great beast of snow or wind or wood or a even the hum of a hummingbird. "his goal in life was to be an echo"
not the cramming, bursting, sweating bodies of crowds pushing one another, this is a different kind of beast.


I guess also, I suppose, that in the wilderness my pitch little sorrow morphs into the preexisting stains of sorrow, the tilting trees, the howling wind, the over ruling, tirant fall of night.
and the silence of it all.


I'l go to that place, I'l build a small heap of fire.
    maybe I'l, finally, weep.