Tropical Haiku

Standard

Defoliated,

branches wheeze beneath their weight—

napalm iguanas.

 

Pre-opened package,

Q-tips clumped in cellophane,

bats bunched in moist leaves.

 

Pig ears, pig snout, pig…

scent-gland second navel—what

the fuck, peccary?

Glaucous eggs congeal

on leaves, each a speck of moon-

light all its own.

 

Rump to nose, waggle

slowly, intermingle moth

slime, and pause—sloth love.

 

Tip-tapping forelegs,

she descends to his retreat—

mud-harvestman love.

Long, randy, the Wilt

Chamberlains of canopies—

spider monkey love.

 

Mud-mired nautili,

new fronds unfurl as bouquets

to themselves—fern love.

 

White bellies refract

the Tico sun like the sand

that blinds the waters.

Chartreuse cockaded

cargo vest, Canon a-perch—

the birder awaits.

 

I ate your mother,

she coos behind her Nikon.

Who cooks for you now?

 

Penny-flocked lacewings

flit askew. Did Darwin or

God bedazzle you?

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