I couldn’t see the snakes.
When they came at night,
Puffing and hissing around my bed.
I slept on the ground
Without a light
Other than the stars.
Glowing softly over my head.
Beauty above. Death below.
To sleep was an act of faith.
Closing your eyes
When well you know
That fangs are coming.
And sooner or later, you have to pee,
Wearing chains.
Such a life does something to you.
It breaks what needs to be broken.
It shows you the Truth;
Death is never far from any of us.
It puffs and hisses, circling.
Still, we must choose
To taste life, joy, and love
In spite of the fangs.
We must not be the snake’s prey,
But its hunter.
We must break our chains.
Not so that we can flee,
But so that we can stand,
And piss on a puff adder.
j.w McKinleyville, 1/1/26
