un-named poem

I do not tremble, the hawk circles

the mouse fulfills his destiny

life becomes the public confession

of blood on chin, and a screech

Shame becomes my latest epoch:

We are forbidden to tongue the reeds

blow the seeds, eat the frogs alive

so that their legs still twitch as they slide

down into our bellies.

I do not weep, the cloud slides away

the sun becomes a symbol of fate

life floats down the the murky river

like beaver bones on a current, hidden below

Generosity fades like cheer

on penalty of breath. We do not dare

enunciate our demons, pronounce them,

whisper them like prayers. We are lost,

that is the giggle, the chuckle, the laugh

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.