When you see
the colorful little buggers flying,
it's somewhat comical,
almost amusing,
as if God gave
these winged creatures
the prettiest array of feathers,
the most beautiful beak,
on the planet.
But they pay for it,
it's huge,
it's so doggone heavy
they can't keep
their headsup
in flight.
Well,
maybe that's not funny,
they could hit
somebody
or something,
knock themselves out!

Sunlight played off
the limes & golds
& there were azures too.
And my oh my,
how the howlers howled,
as dew dripped down
from the canopy
above.
It was quite mystical,
those ancient stone faces
stared at something
even I couldn't see.
But you could feel it there.
Oh yes, you could feel it there,
between the vines & toucans,
something unspoken,
something unnatural,
like spirits
gathering
with angst
for the
clear-cutters.

Twelve days on the isthmus,
trudging through the gap,
we sliced & diced
vines along the trail,
through a world all its own.

Iguanas & butterflies
accompanied us,
along with the tarantulas,
toucans & monkeys.
Everything was in tune,
nature at its finest.

But the bearded-dudes
we encountered
seeemed way out of place,
different from the nature
that was around us.

They were unusually
focused, out of touch
with their long line
of saddlebagged-mulas
& fully-packed mochilas.

The automatic weapons
& machetes finished
off the picture
of these serious hombres,
the runners of the jungle.

We traded Marlboro's
& Johnny Walker Red
for some tea & sugar
& they waved us on by,
gave us safe passage
into Colombia.

Colourful toucans, magic disposables
with pretty specks of dust, fallen pixies
and dreams of an escape.
take me back to that place.
I wanna go home, I wanna go home.

I miss that pretty, twisted place-
I miss that other half of me;
it seems to have detached,
leaving open wounds for me
to find zero comfort in.

Where reality exploded before our eyes
and travelling in teleportation devices
seemed so logical and the only method
of reasonable transport.

The world will not be crushed
by my fragile shaking hands
but I dream of the day it does.

Everything is just a dream
that is vanishing as I wake up now.
I don't wanna wake up, I don't wanna wake up.

I wanna stay in this place,
with fragile hands and the creatures
that are so tragically beautiful
with our minds as the creators.

I wanna stay here with these illusions
that have become our world.

I wanna stay here with you.

The unequivocal sorcerer of slaughter,
I touched the altar and altered my saucer.
Also, I'm flying off the couch like a mortar;
Hoarding powder for that elusive boarder.
I'm bombarding the forest with sawdust,
Open up the squealer and I'll absorb ya.
Kirby the paupers, never mind impostors
From monsters to varmints via carnage;
I'm taking hostages from a cockpit locked in orbit
While you're too busy getting lost on shortcuts
Through the forest, like some forgotten tortoise.
I dream of beanstalks taller than the tallest,
All chopped up as fodder for my fortress;
I'll Trojan horse your forces as a florist
Then harvest your gardens with ordnance.
Ready the warships with torches-
It's turnips versus turrets,
And my furnace is fuming for your service;
No need to be nervous, I'm steady like a surgeon
And concern's always been for the toucans.
My archers carry shotguns for the turbulence,
Your thoughts hang like moss against a blank canvass
While mine climbs like vines towards madness;
I'll finish this with a sickle
And end up myth of the labyrinth.

-SLuR