Sometimes, in conversation
wild beasts gather,
around grey twilight matter,
each bolstered by the other.
Elated, I let them loose through gaps
of eyes and mouth, cannot close the ears
to new or mythical beasts —
nor even long-dead ones
trailed down from the museum
of thoughts from time to time.
Sometimes I think it best
not to talk at all, not
be fake and cultured —
not to turn wild animal thoughts
into those civilised grunt sounds.