The serpent in my gut will hiss for months before it strikes
gripping organs like cuscuta
dripping venom like a hungry dog
Sometimes I try to drown him in the sound waves
but when I lay down again his never-ending
sibilation echoes softly in my skull
Once or twice I thought I heard a word in his relentless sound
a syllable of foreboding
a threat upon a draft
But there is no substitute for anticipation.
And when he bites, my ribs leave splinters
in my laboring lungs.