Call of the Wild


They expect us to love with our brains

Because we are not animals;

They expect us to paint the intricate sunshine,

Not hunt with our nostrils.

Because we have faces, not snouts,

Flat with shrunken jaws.

Because we have nails, not claws;

And hands and feet, not paws.

But the brain is the primate, it is the animal,

Not always savage, often tender;

The heart is a muscle, not a demigod.

We shed like a snake, our skin is leather.

The brain is flesh, not a ghost.

Skin is nerves and nerve endings;

It breathes through its pores,

And is self-mending.

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