My arms wrap around my bent knees as your snake — contortionist, trickster — coils
my parietal lobe. You would never see me ride a flying horse for what could glide out of its mouth. I avoid pet stores, zoos, & natural history museums.

A hiss in a movie & those are my screams you hear bounce off the surround-sound.
On the street see me freeze as men, boa-draped, brush past. Vipers will curtain my casket.

I read milky-eyed
rubbing against constriction
I worship your words

Cynthia Bargar