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Click hereThe Sun's eyes pierce the jungle.
Its hands are sensuous, deceitful,
cupping the Yucatan's untamed green.
Bushes unfurl tuberous leaves,
dense webs of fern bake, stretch
drooping languid fingers.
One iguana conquers Chac-Mool,
draped across the stone bowl,
barely moving, drunk with heat.
Its recticular lid ticks.
A whisper is pressed from lips
to ancient limestone, sacrificing
secrets, echoing on ball court walls.
Mystery is a cool cenote, thick,
littered with bones and death,
passing the quiet forever of time.
One little thing, Angeline. I think you meant reticular. I almost hate to bring it up, but the poem is so close to being perfect.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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if I was to tell you the part I liked best, it would be the whole thing, nothing (except the music) is missing here. This has to be the one of the most interesting things I've ever read. Oh, the part about the music, half of it is already there.
"drooping languid fingers."
"Its recticular lid ticks"
"echoing on ball court walls"
Ok, maybe you forgot the parrots...
I'm tempted (but I won't) to go vote for this three or four times, because one one hundred is not high enough.