The Jungle


More muscular and aggressive,

this is the time of our lives.

Our bones are thicker, our feet –

larger.  Our necks won’t keep us

from the front line any longer.


Our eyes are armored.  Our manes

are black and mature.  Your music

has grown flat; we’re blind to the

birth of your Lord.  Move to provoke

us again, you who slaughtered our children.


In Sumer, we reached maturity.  Prehistoric

peoples merged themselves with us, turned

us to the steeds for 18 of your gods.  We

despise your superior attitudes.  Equanimity

lies in our souls, which is why we beg

your mother for forgiveness, offer

her first-born our most prized possessions.


Not even the serpent’s poison could

destroy us.  We are your kings after

death, alive inside their hearts and minds.

The sun itself shines from our music,

the wings of our third eyes, our tongues.


Once upon a time, we led you

through the desert to be abandoned.

But we are jealous gods, punishing

gods who will visit the sins of the

Fathers upon their sons in the jungle.


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