rithing snakes purify the white blood that sloshes around
within the armor, the woodwind heart with back and forth stops
running top a midnight scherzo at three miles an hour.
Folding into quarter crevices in three-quarter sleep,
Blattaria snuggles in moist shadows, shunning the light:
nocturnal demon that can scissor-scramble on two legs,
and tilt rusted battle shields to lift off like a gargoyle
against the stars. Lineage from the Carboniferous,
with grappling appendages and well-groomed antenna smell,
that can survive on just thumbprint grease or postage stamp glue,
chewing sideways. The bicorn bottom feels the slightest draft
of approach; two-thousand compound lenses scan all about.
The triangular head holds ancient roots of reflection
tapped when hydraulic failure turns six legs toward heaven.
*[ WSB ].