the call of nature

caged in cold steel
polished shine leering unintentionally
stiff expectation barring escape
as people outside wave, smile, and take pictures.

wearily pacing upon the past
building up impressions cast
in metal. the jungle outside
wild and free
with boundless valleys and
unlatched marshes
beckons,

the call of nature.

its high but lonely up here
where languid hope lies.
just wistful, wantful thirst
for the sincerity of rivers and streams
gently flowing past.
it seems that im never able
to drink up

the call of nature.

it seems that everything else runs amok
down there, under treetop cover.
while its sanitised up here:
disinfected duty imposed by
the expected.
the people taking photographs.
it never seems to go away
that void that drowns out

the call of nature.

locked up in loss
of that 'ring ring' that never comes
the sound of silence
which would break the bars
steal the repressed
make me fall:
it never comes
and im still waiting for

the call of nature.