Ambushed in my coiled state among the weeds,
I sense the urgency of that long stick
above my head. This moving hugeness here,
that hunts relentlessly to shower hate
upon my funneled flesh, has come at last,
and I, compelled to stand my circled ground,
hiss my revenge, flick my pronged tongue in rage,
and brave the scream of sky upon my back.

The whirling last sensations in my eyes
will be the tumbled grass, the rush of air -
as I in blindness strike the nearer foe,
explode my weapon on some harmless trunk
of tree in suffocating haste, and die
a writhing line of velvet cut in half.