from The Resurfacing of Edgar Rice Burroughs
Utan tumbled from the bowels
of the unfortunate green men.
The swinging beasts, moss-grown, their bottoms
turned towards his face, their eyes turned
upward, towards the failing sun, the near death sun.
Boo hoo, Utan. His creatures teaching him to embarrass
his displeasure, our displeasure, always
and honestly, without proof.
He no longer roared. He taught me a lesson
by going to the sea-bottom, puking into
a float of sea water and puke at the bottom of the sea, and not dying.
The loveless marriage of the green horde.
Cast your life away. Stay. I have just now
begun to know of you. Stay.