Wild Man / by grace mcgrade


I don’t want you

To get lost in me

Or even to get found in me

I don’t want a fixer upper

Or to hold your hand

And be your surrogate mother.

I don’t want a

Politically correct

Porsche driving

Nine to Five

“What time, What place?”

Fine Wine and Dinner

Missionary Style


I want second hand jeans

Midnight chaos

Anywhere, anytime

Morning wrestles and in the woods

Once a day

Twice a day

All the time

\\\\Not sex, Love

I don’t want agreement

I want lofty rebuttles

Tape me down to the earth

Hand to feet

Mouth to Mouth

Shoulder rocking laughter fits

Blaring brilliantly



With a pathological need to understand the driving forces of all consciousness

Exposing lucid, creative madness-

Like the unhinging of passageway doors

Like the unclasping of a belt buckle

A mutual blending and fusion of madness,

Equal parts godly and erotic;

Leading to everywhere

And nowhere

Ending in death and through to eternity.

Intertwined like Celtic knots

Folding lazer origami

Intricately interconnected and delicately detailed

High on design and wet on holiness.

you can make the same love to a thousand women, or make love to me a thousand different ways.

you and me, we were raised by the wild.

remember what it's like to get free and i’ll be waiting on the other side of paradise.