This Is How I Will Hear My Name Many Years from Now

Next we journeyed to Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania.

This was before the tourists. I held the death-scream of a wild boar inside my chest.

A particular chestnut would not crack for stew.

This is how I might hear my name many years from now.

Flypaper is present when we survive the color green.

No, it was more like yellow fever than the strange, strained mouths of malaria.

My limb-strafed bone crawls out to the moon.

The coat of an African serval gleams with tensing muscles of multiple dark stars.

Let the twitching scars of all things catlike enter the word from behind.

Eroticize the poet-tongue. Grasp my neck by each of your hen teeth. Hold me erect among my fellow beasts.