Conversations with Wolves

Talking to you
is like forcing myself
through a very small hole in a barbed wire fence

with small brained certainty
that the field on the other side is sweeter

Halfway through and no way back
A final tearing heave to freedom

Only to realise
I’ve left behind strings of soft fleece
hooked there in the wind

and there are
corresponding scars
on my naked belly.

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