Jungle Fever
a prophet gets no
honor in his town. I'm no prophet but only
a poet trying to write the poetry of the day
but they watch me with the hawk's eye.
no longer do I sing
the songs of Innocence, for out
of the egg-shell matrix have I graduated
into the profound absurdity of the real world,
where ambiguity wears the crown in its jubilation,
and the well dressed don who wears
a stetson hat and the business suit
from Bradford, smiles with you and plots your downfall.
no longer do I sing
the songs of Innocence,
no longer do I sing as a bird.
''by the rivers of Babylon, there we wept
when we remembered Zion''.
only rivers of brass and tears
and the syntax of vines intermingle
in this jungle fever.
poem by Enoch John
Added by Poetry Lover
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