in the jungle it is quiet at night

all you hear are the leaves going fffft ffffft ffffft when there is a breeze. you hear the bugs that could bite you and you hear the chestnuts or walnuts falling. or it's the squirrels taking them. you hear the squirrels when they fight or chase each other, which is either fighting or foreplay or just irritating.

in the jungle at night you can hear the cars in the parking garage coming and going, ususally only four or five, because it is late, and the parking garage at night for the community college of philadelphia is slightly emptier at this hour.

you hear the vendors of jamaican d's packing and unpacking and preparing to be jamaican d's.

sometimes at night in the jungle when it is quiet, you can hear all the things you didn't do and steel yourself.

sometimes at night in the jungle it is quiet and you are the only thing to hear.

sometimes at night in the jungle, there are mosquitoes. and squirrels, scampering.

and if you wanted to, bit by bit, you could take apart your nightmares and put them back together, reinforced with krazy glue, and determination. and atom bombs. because nothing beats atom bombs. not rock, not scissor, not paper, not the insecurities you cut off like foreskin and left flapping in the trees for someone else to wrap around their neck.