thinned blood of the sickly
infused with my own sweet
rattlesnake venom given to
a dreamer with shaman visions
of a redhead and a drunk genius
painted upon the stone walls of my
reincarnated soul, an aged difference
who will write the stories
after all the tales have been told
and time ages into the grave
can a voice remain an echo
through times unfolding wing
or shall our fashionably late
arrival but announced in silence
and longing stares from skull eyes
the myth of the snake god
climbing up that mountain
surrounded in south american gold
composed in the hands of the star trusting
emerald isle pagan with sleeves of green
who loves to play every game
except this one.
when they bury us
i don't want to feel
anything, just the
rattlesnake inside
of me singing