Howler Monkey

I run my life by parachute
to confuse the howler monkey
in my chest.  From below
it only looks like I’m drifting down:
it’s in fact a directed
crash that keeps the beast
docile.  What will happen
when I run into the ground
is best left unknown.  I know
what I fear, but perhaps the animal
will fall asleep rocking in the thermals;
a man can hope.  Sometimes
all he can do is hope.  Having heard
the screams inside, 
it’s in fact all I ever do.