John McKernan

ANOTHER AZTEC DEATH

Saturates the dry red stone

With its wire drum

A new language

Is always needed

To keep up with the Cheetah

To fly into the dryest shadow in the forest

Past the hands

Of the tiny quick green monkeys

Their eyes the color of coal 

Their thin limbs   Swift

In the slick red leaves

Fur soft as feathers   While overhead

A vast toucan sunset turns

Down the volume of the girl's golden scream