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(Madre de Dios Jungle, Peru)

Andrew Kaufman

One tree has a dick, a thick root

pointing to the earth, a plump bead of dew

hanging from the tip,

the shaft covered with thorns

to rip your hand apart. That mushroom

nearby will stop your bleeding. The one

beside it: you’ll bleed to death

through your ears. Swallow this plant’s stem,

you hallucinate, they say, until you see

an animal that is your soul. The tree canopy

is so dense only lace-sky appears. "Loves

to laugh," say personal ads,

obituaries, and features about nude

centerfolds. With the chirps of insects,

patter of drizzle, and the river’s swiftness,

laughter could be the music

of this jungle. And Kara and Karma,

here from California (their real names)

from "near L.A.", matching stringy

hair and braless flounce,

see themselves as Orpheus. Their muses: snakes

hissing all night from their showerhead,

scorpions crawling at dawn

from their toilet. The spaceship

outside their window,

one long blast of a night,

flew off like spittle,

as their bursts of terror

turned again to laughter. Does laughter

bring Karma and her friend the right karma,

or the karma that is right

for Kara and Karma? Or how about that

of this whole jungle,

its living-in-the-moment greenness and sap,

blossoming, multiplying, and flush

with untold species of larvae and nits?