On my first cup of coffee.
I am changing.
I am girded with a copperhead.
I am scratching every itch I have.
I am fine. Fine
except for the song on the radio I don’t know.
It sounds familiar. A song from
two minutes ago.
A song
from younger days
although it is new. It is
not even five years old.
No song is old enough
to be remembered.
The copperhead
becomes a song. The copperhead
sings to me. The radio
sings to me. It all sings
to me. Sings to me from
two seconds back
and here I am
coming up to it, hurrying up
to catch up to where it has been.
It has been a thousand places
before reaching me. It is a song
from a snake’s gut.
Thin,
reedy, ready to change me.
Having my second cup of coffee now.
I am changing. Charging, perhaps.
The snake is nowhere to be seen. In place
inside me. I am calmer now
and feeling electricity within.
Coiled up. Every two minutes
I catch up with time.
It is not a good time.
Later I will go to the store. It won’t be
a good time. It will fill
with snake bites. A song I don’t know
sung by someone who feels
long ago old though she is not
and I will close my eyes,
let that poison flow through me
from the mouth of the copperhead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T
Dark Matter 