Jungle

The jungle, if you know it,
can tell you more
about a man than anything else.

Stick a man, any man
into a tiger’s paw

and see.

Every man’s a jungle
if there ain’t no food in the belly.

Put a gun to a man’s head,
pull the hammer back
and count to three

and see.

Look in his eyes,
with a knife in your hand.
A bomb to your chest.
A flag in your mouth

and see.

Men grow wild
and fester in tepid waters
because ultimately,
we’re all just hangin’ around.

Nowhere to go but down.
And we walk in dense foliage,
carrying our bows, and our slings
peering through leaves,
staring into a mirrored heart.

And we hunt.

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