198. lung, eels compote for snacking roofers, forty

it happened in hoofs, remote, resolute,
the last of the great gorilla communes — 
when gorillas roamed free, happy, and heated
to 32 centigrade, always complete, and

the possible packets of freeze dried, compacted
portable pots had not been enacted,
invented, i mean, these gorillas were clean,
fresh picked from native grown gorilla plants green

what joy! they would scamper — striped, sideways, banded,
some had big jaws, some hadn’t hands, and
if (say) you needed a gorilla in beads, or
a gorilla with pumpkin face, pock-marks, or peas

the choices were endless, gorilla plants send up
shoots twice a day, and each on is rendered
bright with the sun, a gorilla of one,
majestic, but different, seed-fruit, or plums

maybe a hat, the gorilla plant has
DNA downgrading every day, and
such was the beauty of hoofs when it sprooted,
sprouted, i mean, you couldn’t compute the

calfs come on board, and people would pour — 
a railway was built to these people transport,
who collected gorillas for pastas, to fill up
conservatories costly with brilliant — they killed them

stuffed they would sit on ledges and driven
mostly extinct out in hoofs — there still lived there
one or two, high, out of reach of the riders — 
the railway collapsed — civilization requires

gorillas to grow, to be nurtured, but lo!
the lack left the people unable, alone,
lost in a world where gorillas stuffed served
as signposts for cafes and stadium turns

at last to complete their destruction the people 
turned to un-stuffing and selling, say, fingers,
heads, toes, torsos of gorillas, and bones,
and using the cash, say, for shelter or clothes