primate

the way the wind courts sound
                fits your semi-
         victorian sensibility

it doesn't need liquid articulation
by former members of heavy 
metal: it says itself 
          onomatopoetically

at night, and in the seventies,
entities make lumbering
         attempts at echoing

it doesn't need vestigial utterance             

the way your androgenic hair describes                       
the hemisphere   --- part world, part 
world away --- set off by air above,
                     below the high 
                  totem of your face