my sixth finger accentuates monkey
an extra thumb to surprise my watchers
wiggling in tandem with its twin
inching forth to bleed your gaping wound
how you shine with void!
It's purpose known to none
but those who are already gone-
Cloud Beings
Makers of our Tree
They will never
ever set us free.
As clever apes compute
trajectories of stolen time
bending mobius strings anew
to weave these thoughts of you.
So saddle up your ruminant
stuff our heads with rhyme-
I'll see you in the monkey-house
where sadness cannot climb
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