Snake
It surges away accelerating within its length,
a self-winding mind
pumped through muscular hoops.
A sharpshooting tongue flicks, drilling space,
muscular chains shrug along propelling flanks.
Snake slips through its own ribs;
watching that swift cage
roll over the tractor-prints of its flesh
my pulse also pushes ahead
running to define a matching rhythm,
a pattern etched on the undersurface
of that unseen belly.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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