thought dream 012709.2

O colossal cobra, demon of my mind,
rising up on reptilian muscle
from the core, the woven
wicker basket of the soul,
where you lay curled in darkness,
waiting for some mysterious
music to call you forth.

You're from the wrong culture.

It's the rattlesnake I fear.
Serpent of the Texas landscape,
hiding in crags of limestone in
rock shelves down by the river,
me rising out of the water
on a hot summer day, trying
to pull myself up on a ledge
in the August sun, hand
reaching out for something
to hold onto, you waiting
in the cool shadows. Always
waiting. Will I ever hear
your rattle before you strike?

God, I hate snakes.