Who are you there, wavering at the precipice
of my impatience?
Come to me, treacherous ones.
Come to me in darkness and in stealth.
Come to me with your machete dreams,
your armor of canvas and pith.
I will devour you all, spit you out, tattoo
your soul with unreasoning despair.
For I am the jaguar's opium dream, the womb
from which he ravenously bursts.
Through my dark arteries the anaconda flows.
I suckle the anteater and the spider.
I watch you with the lemur's eyes. My lizard
tongue flicks in and out, tasting your fear.
I am the purgatory of storms. I quell
the monsoon's avarice, the hurricane's lust.
The trees incise my heart's tectonics into air.
The wind pierces me like a fissure.
I am the seventh circle, the gate at which
the mind abandons hope.
Come to me with spears, and I will be the wound
which heals over you, engulfs you.
They will find you stumbling in my cyclone's eye,
bewildered, lost and gibbering like an ape.