In another jungle the monkeys fret. Vibrations are tremendous. Terror begins. Mist dissipates. Monkeys alight in unison while beneath them nothing sexy happens. From within one mangrove a monkey flutters helplessly, another watches. Noise like refined alabaster drifts across our monkeys. Human intellect dwarfs only that first tear. Everything else excels. Intellect is nothing to savor. Monkeys know. Monkeys see. Monkeys do. As monkeys follow nauseated foresters across wet walkways they announce their intentions. Mankind savors variety. Monkeys savor mankind. Poachers came and grabbed the monkeys. In disturbing circumstances they thrive. Our satellites saw lilacs. Nighttime. No one wanders forever.
From Nice Hat. Thanks. copyright © 2002 by Joshua Beckman and Matthew Rohrer. Reprinted by permission of Wave Books.