From AR Ammons' book-length poem "Garbage"

We are primates: apes: we’re meat wrapped round
Knotchbone spine: we can’t untangle ourselves

Productively from stalwart lacing, bone, artery.
Nerve compact but, turned around, there is the

Spiritual face, thoughts lightbeam light,
Twinklings like minnows surfacing waves, the

Rosy rushes that rouge or loft flesh, the
Interface of meat and madness, love and lumbar:

It is, I think, remarkable that we are there in
The form of apes: mulling apes: walky apes:

But Newton, a lone one in his room, flowed
Figure into calculus that found on a sheet of

Paper the slow Saturn fell into passing Jupiter:
This kind of ape will join his fellows in a

Dirty street and hack another fellow who has
Done ungroupliness to death, axe him right

In the pleading face and let him bleed reconciled:
Purity of cluster will override good or bad in

Us: I have a low view of us: but that is why
I love us or try and move to love us: