wanting less and less
to do with the consensus
wanting his con to sense us
like we do too
where perpetual mutation
meets perplexed limitation
Tennessee copperhead forests
swift instincts ignite
eloquent dangerous movements
of tiny young hands around tail
with no room for error
lifting the slithering beast
snapping against tree
like a whip
breaking the bone
tearing the skin
watching the head
fly clean off
alpha testing the ego machine
not for survival
but for sport
lifetimes spent
sustaining the climax
of the first seed shot
egg winning smile
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