I was thinking of
all the thoughts people yearned to tell then,
to rattle off to their cave-mate
before the anteater’s carcass
smoking on the spit.
Now, no matter how many words
we peel from our throats like a
magician’s long multi-colored scarf
it’s never enough.
The truth is, there’s no
god-chimp to poke you with
a stick, or lick the honey-termites
of prayers from your insides.