The Jungle (poetry)

jungle of images(...)

You do not wanna git los' inna the jungle of images.

They repeat that over and over

. . . As they walk. Further and further in

. . . . . They recite. They keep on walking

They keep walking into a hell that is called “Paradise.”

And you in the jungle now; you lost; you are lost

— —

One of those images is going to bite you. Or maybe it will call you “Baby,” and lick you, being gentle instead of biting hard in the more rough sense.

In any case you will get attracted to one of the images and it will bite you and you now infected, boy, and That image is controlling you forever. Symptoms are that when you puke pages of the NY Times come out.

You have become ideologically infected.