Wild Life for Susan Medyn, a poem by David Formanek
Wild life erupts
from the crevices
cracking open the planes
between the daily
and the unexpectable.
Its rules are simple:
Eat, rest, and the other thing.
Wild life paints its offspring
with revealing masks to attract
congenial company, and repel
the hungry, and stun
its food before it eats.
Where do you fit in,
in our concrete hives,
our wooden termite colonies,
our iron leaves that raft us across the waters?
Medynology by David Formanek, a poem about my artwork.
Everyone is many people
and some of us are brightly tinted critters
who converse, unmindful
of their flower-freak exteriors,
happy for the company of their compeers.
Look this way and look that.
Face the faces that favor you.
It doesn’t really matter what you say,
only that you’re hearing the other.
The cat cries for happiness and desire.
The birds call because they’re born to sing.
At the same time, talk is cheap—and priceless.
Are my friends tangerine, magenta, cerulean, chartreuse?
Are yours chimeras, sphinxes, nymphs, and sprites?
In a scale-less Eden,
blossoms quiver looming over glooming trees.
Anything can talk to anyone,
then turn around to talk the other way.