Poetry

Milking the Snake

if you want to be venomous

i have a beautiful gold leaf life for you.

i spend at least half of my day

taking care of the snakes. most people

would not know that i have

several hundred of them living

right here in my house. i used

to name them but eventually

it just got to be too much. i catch men

to feed to the snakes. did i say men?

i meant mice. aren't mice a lot

like men though? aren't i a lot like men?

aren't i a lot like a mouse? i run

from shadow to shadow. i eat

with my hands. i skirt along the wall.

first thing in the morning i milk

the snakes as if they were cows.

save the venom. drink some

in the hopes of becoming a fire escape.

i have had my hair catch fire

during this process. the fangs

plunged into the cup. i squeeze

gently behind the head. all my snakes

would bite if given the chance. they all

do not want to be my snakes.

i try to be kind to them. they traveled

all the way here from a manic island

just to keep me company. once, a lover

found me holding a snake. he said,

"i thought you loved me."

i said, "i do" but he had already

talked to the snake telepathically.

he had already decided i had lied to him.

in the end, i had. i told him

that the snakes were just a religion.

he didn't know they were there

living in the walls & the ceiling.

waiting for me to extract the ancient

from their skulls. it is hard to store

this much venom. that is why i drink it.

slowly so as to not cause a jupiter.

a little off the top. like a sleeping cream.

my blood strings up christmas lights.

"what are you doing?" my mother asks

& it is the first time someone has

ever seen me with a snake. i am in

my childhood bedroom. i eat

the whole thing. snake skeleton

& all. i say, "nothing at all."