IN THE JUNGLE THERE ARE…
…Layers of chlorophyll skin that yields to sabers, splits
And bleeds
Juice
Over the hunters’ caps and backs.
Their boots crack and mud seeps
In
Squelch, Squelch.
Their hot rifles
Spray bullets in an ugly game.
And heavy cows of jungle tread in fear,
The fastest they can go.
Their dried, patched leather
With tints of purple, blue and gray.
Their heavy, lethal, tender steps.
Elephants.
A perfect aim, right in the socket
And sticky liquid spills
In lazy drips.
Squelch, Squelch.
The purple flesh collapses in slow-mo
A dull thud of an empty fear,
A silent buzz of cocoa hands,
Like bees,
Alive ebony roaming over the precious white
Horns.
Processed and ground,
Soft white that makes up the teeth inside her smile,
and French manicured
Tips and healthy white of eyes
That saccharinely gaze at the white of her stars.
And yet behind her ivory,
There is the angry blood
That could be found now dry and clotted
Inside the corpses
Of the purple cows
Rotting among the Jungle boughs.
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