Time passes—Slithers, more like.
Snakes right by us,
Under our very noses, through openings and closings,
Over our heads—
usually when they’re over our heels
in like.
It’s fun when it’s flying,
Imperforated feathers of disregard and ecstasy,
Like singing Queen in the shower, hot water at full blast,
“Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good
time.”
Boa constrictors are aptly named, however.
Tick-tock-squeeze-glug.
It’s definitely not last night anymore.
No more yellow brick whatever’s laying down the presumptuous path to paradise.
I’ll keep the sparkly red shoes, though. They’re timeless.
Oh, and I guess the little dog, too.
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