A clover grove alone in the jungle.
A warm misty jungle with sulfur soil
On which no pauper, peasant, or prince has yet to toil –
The toucan lives there. An army of ants.
A bubbling boil erupts
Sloshing around over hot hot hot steam
Bursting forth like a geyser, stripping dirt
to its seams
A four-headed fellow lives in the grove,
The clover grove alone in the warm,
misty jungle –
Picked up by a lad with infinite dreams.
In his sleep, with a girl, or a ladder,
or a swirl
Mixture of above and below.
Spirits huddled in the shadows there.
A steamy clover grove as people pass through,
And the lad with infinity hopes passed through too.
And the four-headed fellow wished him good luck, too.