A walker comes across coyote droppings on a small rise in the woods and, instead of looking away, studies them closely. The speaker sees something almost artistic in them: two piles overlapping like graffiti tags, the title's "wildstyle," a term for tangled street lettering. The comparison is funny but also tender. The scat is full of mouse hair and small bones, a record of what the animals ate, so the "writing" is a message about life and death in the woods.
Then the speaker follows the tracks, which means they become a kind of reader or tracker, curious rather than disgusted. The tracks split apart in an old clearcut overgrown with tree-of-heaven, a tree often considered invasive. The poem ends there, without explaining anything. The mood is quiet, observant, and a little playful, with a hint of loss in the scarred land. The speaker seems content to notice and to let the coyotes stay mysterious.