Gazelle’s dream

If the lumber drawbridge machine deigns not to prostrate before me,

If i can't puncture the giant timber door with my horns and shape,

then i shall hurtle across the high wall with my own bloody limbs,

And swim across the moat's wide ether, wounds cleaned, pain anaesthetised.

Then pace like the wind, no longer patient, nor form straitjacketed,

But a free, newly ferocious gazelle in search of his wild rangale,

Mingling in the far landscape where all rule is fair, and void of law, 

And rife with gazelle love. In the green hills and forest beside the blue sea.