Patas Monkey is distributed over semi-arid areas of West Africa,
and into East Africa. The ground-dwelling patas avoids dense woodlands
and lives in more open savanna and semi-deserts and, perhaps as
an evolutionary response to the high adult mortality rates associated
with this strongly terrestrial lifestyle, has a remarkably high
reproductive rate. The patas monkey feeds on insects, gum, seeds,
and tubers, a diet more characteristic of much smaller primates,
and they grow to 85 cm in length, excluding the tail, which measures
75 cm. Adult males are considerably larger than adult females and
some of them can reach speeds of 55 km/h, making them the fastest
runner among the primates. They have several distinct alarm calls
that warn members in the group of predators. Different alarm calls
are given by different group members and certain alarm calls indicate
particular predators. Unlike other primates, patas monkeys rarely
take refuge from predators in trees. This is most likely the due
to the relatively sparse tree cover in patas monkey habitats. While
patas monkeys usually run away from predators, both male and female
individuals have been observed to attack predators, such as jackals
Ladies and Gentleman, does it matter?
Ladies and Gentleman -
is it credible that
the house may be insulated, yet cold?
That the sick attraction of Job
is continually foisted upon
the plight of scabrous
men and women?
(Surely you saw the news:
The scandal and the turning screws)
Are even they --
these plain men and plainer women --
as sacred as our stone tablets?
Almost as sacred as the Holy See in which
the voice of authority tickles
Do you matter as a voice
ladies and Gentleman?
These times we live in,
these are the instances when
swine steal our boys
and fatten them with cornmeal
until they are ready to be popped.
And our holy men are almost
all horribly ill -- Did you not see the news!
Instances when defining homilies,
adorned in blessed cotton
and twill mitres,
swirl randomly around a largely
misinterpreted and unseen nucleus.
Ladies and Gentleman -
at night, sometimes, I am confused.
I am the pusher to the root, you see.
In fact, I am the thrust....
and after all, are we all not made
in his image? As his toys?
So you make the decision: judge me credible
or not just not based upon
what I have alluded to...
parts and appendages. Duty.
Ladies and Gentleman
our brand is damaged and in need
of repair. Will you parent the teas
and field trips? Will you answer
to bananas girthier than your own?
And crusade for the sausage,
the fatuous and gaping tunnels,
or for the earthly isolations of those
who may rise, cherub the proletariat,
and stamp out
the anthro-identities of people brain
that drop to a knee and think
for other minions? Stop asking!
Will you reinterpret the matrixes of rebar
and faith as they are laid
for the flakey crust of fresh baked nations?
For the cattled souls who will take the axe
and before swinging sip some fine wine
to set the mood.
Oh the games we'll play.
Ladies and Gentleman....will they swing
that axe without your voice? Without
your gentle push?
You gently push.
At night sometimes,
I confess I am confused
about my duties
and this incomplete heaven sentence.
I know names.
I know these accusations.
Does it matter?
There is only sin.
What the hell does the tender
need of the body?
What would he do?
Sean J Mahoney lives with his wife, her parents,
an Uglydoll, and three dogs in Santa Ana, California. He works
in geophysics. Sean was out-boozed by Franciscan monks in Ireland
and swam with Whale Sharks in Mexico. He believes that punk rock
somehow miraculously survives, that Judas was a way better singer
than Jesus, and that diatomaceous earth is a not well known enough
gardening miracle. His stuff appears here and there both in print
and online. He dabbles.