Rattlesnake

Rattlesnake, you see me
Too, writhe in the hollow.

Never again will we
Be one man under a

Stone of the ancients, a
Brittle hand, or a cult

Of perpetuity.
No more will the moon sing

Sorrow to our bones, our
Hollow hand, our ancient

Man-rattle. Snake, you sing
The moon. See the brittle

Cult. Hollow me to writhe
In perpetuity,

In sorrow and in bones,
One again under stone.

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