Through the Jungle Lightly

I steam ahead,
at unknown things
with fangs, growling,
as they dangle, curdle, and slink,
entangled in leafy vines,
inside my domain of confusion,
my jungle,
my forever.

Through the green habitat,
a strangling of aromas,
tinctured
with my spice of passion
and hope,
coated in dough,
like a fortune cookie.

Next,
the combat zone:
ambushed by onion roots,
the cutting-knife frenzy,
the staggering bitterness,
the throng of tears,
charging up,
rivaling
the rush to feed.

A sneeze, shirred and shredded;
I'm a basket case
unnerved
by this peppering of taters,
crowding around
succulent fowls with bones crooning,
wildly jubilant,
all their eggs laid and scrambled.

From my kitchen,
I garnish,
with feverish haste,
a fantasy to savor
for formidable forks,
the slow chew of the cud,
belly's sake--the burden of our clay--
the natives' shout of one short celebration
after such battle:
"Just drink the wine
and be whole again."