crossing Central Park, elusive in the shadowland,
time traveler of the darkest side, Caliban,
who rules the earth for a time, brute
of the narrow days, hulking hirsute
biped bending at the blue fountain, observant
angel in the days of rage, servant
to a butterfly evanescing o'er the canyon
homeland of the hairless ape, the towers of cro-magnon.
Target of the winnowing spear, the devil dart
has rimmed him through his loathsome heart.
Agony gaze, the furrowed brow ridge fraught
with pain, he hunkers down and drowns in thought.
The ape-men gather round the corpse, the Irish cop
his whistle blows, gesticulations stop.
The homeboys leave for home, forsake the crowds,
assume the body in a body bag among the clouds.