​The wild dogs run, 

Through the prairies – 

And sanctums of my mind. 

Finding refuge,  building dens, 

In this sepulchre, 

Where I thought I’d laid – 

Many things to rest. 

These dogs dig up old bones, 

That I thought I’d  buried deep – 

Bringing them to the surface, 

As if they are some –

Forgotten Treasure.

And when placed together, 

They build the frame, 

Of the man I am today. 

Today I run with the wild dogs, 

At peace – 

In the fiery prairies of my mind. 

Kevin Brown © 16.07.2016