carried further, carried quiet downstream i rested. upon a bank, i stayed to write the symphonies of the canopy in bound-leather sequels of madness and fame and riches and war. they all gather here, each wound and each wind, pulling four corners of earth into one green raucous novel, one like a hemingway with the laughable grace of mendeleev.
i wanted to eat it all, the sounds the silence, to hold it inside me and keep. as i lay and the dirt became pore became blood, the air thickened and there was no jungle and i, i and jungle. approached me, from some corner of Amazon wrath, he came, he came to my resting place and brought with him the world, ensnared in his claws, wrapped in sinew, the majesty of battle and the weight of the world. he, this black jaguar of night and wrath and love, came snared and ensnarled, speaking.
and from his mouth came a swarm of honey-thick weaponry, the Loudest Whisper, a crescendo rolling over and in between fangs and over teeth and lip and whisker, over snarl and growl his words came to me honey-thick.
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