Gila Monster On my front doorstep like someone delivered a living artifact, like something the Zuni made from seed beads, peach and black. You pose as though for a mural, curled tail of fat, not rattle. You don’t like to bite. Peptides from your venom curb sugar in the blood, cancer in the lung, and memories, once age opens the birdcage of the brain. You eat only rarely, then tongue the air for more. Is this it? What’s next?
Posted on: Tue, 06 Aug 2013 04:18:05 +0000
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