Jungle Vision

Jungle Vision

Panther black jungle night.
Monkeys screech,
parrots squawk in fright.
Muddy brown river,
lethal as a viper bite.
I paddle through in my canoe,
watch white birds lift from a lake,
fly over trees in green tropic light.
I climb a bamboo ladder
in the summer heat,
blink away my vision,
feel my feet in my suburban street.
And the lion yawns,
safely in the shade,
far from the hunter’s guns,
and the cheetah runs
over the grassy plain,
though faraway,
I feel the thud of paws,
the freedom in my brain.
And the sky scrapers rise,
high above my head,
and I look around
to see if I am where
my directions led.
The taxi horns
louder than a trumpet blare.
I am not really there,
I am here.
I am not really here,
I am elsewhere.
I am not really there,
though only partly here,
for I am elsewhere.
Helicopter blades
cut through the air,
and the lines of waves
take me further out,
but I am not there,
I am really here,
yet I am elsewhere.

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