After the apocalypse, I will go wild,

braid my hair and cliff dive, overexcite

every nerve, the ones that fail me,

the ones I hide; I will be reckless,

French braid my hair and climb

the crest like a wildebeest,

a reckless, unconcealed buckhorn,

the elastic pull of myelin,

a wildebeest’s crested horns; I will

forgive the countdown, cut the red bomb

wire, the myelin pull of elastic

is a nerve set free. I will dodge

bomb’s red plume, the countdown,

biding time radiation, lesions

less nerve than dodged bullet; I am free

of warrior, an inflammation of bravado.

I will radiate wildness; a forest of lesions

won’t stop me. When I run past,

bravado and warrior will part the seas,

and I will go wild after the apocalypse.