Monzon and the Monsters - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads

Riding the wide open prairies I never saw You have the mind of a honeybee, sugar. You misfold my bed and deviate when I ask you to recycle or jump. Your reactions are regularly spontaneous but in a stiff way like an old tendon. You bedevil my coffee, burn my shirts, move by echolocation. What were doing all those years in a Vermont cave? Insects were flying 600 million yeas before. Pterosaurs 200. Birds 150. Bats 65. Your bones are so delicate you’ll not preserve well. Those colugos are misnamed and mishandled. Your bats are closer to cows, deer, whales, hedgehogs, moles, cats, dogs , bears than shrews. Because they’re a kind of horse. I saw you in rocks, under leaves like umbrellas, with pollen, lizards, fish, flowers, blood and fruit. In the Venezualan cinema you saw the moths fall and rise in the meaningless life of all those crowds and B movies. You don’t like people, they don’t like you, so you get on just fine. Long before the Romans you were marching the crowds. How many viruses are your pals? You should have mentioned that to someone before we got talking. Your guano is mostly gunpowder plot junk food. At night I find you hanging upside down. It’s New Mexico, all guns and sand. You know your hollow trees, your abandoned mines. Your old well is a coliseum. You drank your mother’s milk and then my horses’ blood. Last year rabies killed raccoons, skunks and you were lucky. You always did play the odds. Gore’s just water with a little dash of protein. Low calorie diets threaten. Starvation happens. You’re always tottering on the edge of that. But you have your buddies and stay loyal. I was in Madang when I last saw you, shooting dice in the airport lounge with a stranger. I love you at night and sweat the days alone and scared.