You got out of the cage with nobody's help.
The outside world is a jungle, with predators and raptors,
insect viral bites that slow-fry your bowels.
The cage is safe, an aseptic bell jar,
screened from uncertainty, danger and darkness.
Its calls are tempting, like a fluorescent juice,
like sleep that wraps you up after your teeth have clattered.
But there's a veil of curare on the rim of the glass,
and torpor is only a disguise for frostbite.
Don't give up, stay outside!
The jungle is risk and gambling with life,
but your skin becomes leather and your soul will condense:
your heart crams itself, gulps down and globs,
nerves and capillaries reach out and grope,
making contact with the tips of the roots of the world,
sucking its lifeblood and carrying it up.
Don't give up, don't go!
When you got out you were rickety, grazed, worn-out,
but you did hold out,
you'll be a jaguar soon!
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