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Jane of the Jungle (she’s all good)
charmed our world as Darwin’s daughter.
Anglican primates notwithstood,
her leaky theories held some water.

Streams of ngombe, sacred cows
were celebrated. What were these
to which the simian cosmos bows?
Irrelevant hypotheses.

Selecting great apes (naturally)
Miss Misanthrope researched, with love;
her theories, stated factually,
were hailed as truth from God above.

Hoping for reason, shadowing Man
the graybeards came for tempting fruit
unaware of their part in the plan:
to be used, like tools (but more hirsute).

Termites on a slender stalk
delighted hungry primate souls.
Her ripe bananas were the talk
of primatological controls.

peeling off; mzungu starkness
starred the Tanzanian night.
Chimping out, she lit the darkness
claiming scientific right.

Sweating out the Tarzan fever,
naming names while hugging apes
let us, laughing, love and leave her
to her anthropoid escapes.

The seed of my fall
was sowed when in small,
certain twist of fate,
both were working late.

Papers flew to frame you wings
while a hunger pulled my strings,
and in the blues of your gaze,
did my heaven and hell blaze.

If we conceive of a deity
captured perfectly
within our trim theology,
we fool ourselves.

He's true to his word,
but too big for a book
that fits in our human hands.

I’m an atheist but with people
I don’t believe in anyone that creates gods
or that responsibility
that is cleverly left for dead