Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Thursday, May 3, 2012

A Myth of Evolution of Creation

by Michael Dwayne Smith

The steamy, naked bun jungle is my home.
I run rain forest with the monkey. Nights we swat
fat moths away with his tail, by day compose

stories in clay at the slow-drying mud hole
down in Twin Bush gulch. I’ve become a cowboy.
The monkey won’t touch my spurs. We woke

in this desert all head-achey, staring at cactus spiders.
The sky dry heaved what was left of heaven
into the monkey’s lap. It’s a wicked hallucinogen.

Not much of it left after all these Indian chants we’ve
sung to tarantulas, but death is valiant enough for
monkey and me. We take the heat, and we pack it, too.

Sleep with Amazonian stars in our stomachs. And it’s
Good Night, Suckers, when monkey rolls his bare ass up
in a grimy poncho, and cuts the jalapeño cheese.

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