humped over in silence.
The purring engine to the polemic mimicry,
of the universe doubts our existence.
We were never here,
and we argue over our importance.
The jungle breathes in the darkness,
caring not if we live or die.
Vegetation does not stop for instances of the mind;
It carries on eating up any rotting tissue in its way.
There is an eroticism to this rotting;
this disintegration of flesh, muscle, bone,
with the wet slipping of slimy bellied rats,
from one shore line to another.
"I did not think so many were undone."
Sitting on the river bank,
watching violet light seep into the ground water,
I ponder our undulations in the foreign lands,
eating up derivative elements of hard tasting candy.
The wind blows my hair to a moving crown,
and I wiggle my toes in the mud.
The jungle breathes;
Waits in silence for the world to end.
Waters lap at the shore of a timeless sea,
where pearls are little more than oceanic pebbles,
drifting into the eyes of dead sailors.
"Look! Those are pearls that were his eyes!"
The world waits;
Watching;
Breathless,
as the towers of ancient civilizations burn on the horizon,
with the shuttering rhythmic cry of over zealous demi-gods,
who undone so many.
The world holds it breath,
and the jungle shivers,
creeping over the long dead assimilations of an industrialized society.
Great machines of war mean nothing,
to the creeping vines,
and skittering beetles of the corpus genus,
who make their homes,
in burned out flesh.
In all of these wasted ironic mutations,
I lie naked,
watching the stars on a river bank,
dressed in the vestiges of a gluttonous race.
Each star winks at me with a pearl-like eye,
telling me the secrets of unused emotions,
vibrating from one existential relapse to another.
Each dead star brings me its light,
as a dim memory of another existence,
in a futile race to arms.
I slowly bury myself in the sexuality of mud,
like a cryogenic frog,
testing the limits of each wriggling limb,
and wait for the world to start all over again.
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