Mr Kinski in the Jungle

The river gurgled
and sucked lazily at the bank,
soothing raw roots.
In the darkening green
shadows bled
and stained the ground
where he stood
in white linen
and whiter skin.
A small voice sang out
across the tourniquet air.

Action!

The mighty beast howled,
a wave of startled birds
blossomed in response
and fled into the under-exposed sky.
Rage tore through Eden
and Fitzcarraldo was there
in the frame.
The gate was checked,
the beast was tamed.

Cut!