I never last many years without adventure
sticking out its foot to block the door,
stepping inside to dust for prints
then rearrange the furniture.
Last time, I made it out of prison.
Last last time I made it in.
What comes next? Torrid affair? Family death
sneaking up like a schoolyard bully slapping necks?
Maybe successes I’ve always wanted. Maybe
a new blindfold while I wait for rifle shots at dawn.
Whatever it is, I’m shaping up, sucking in my gut,
rising like a viper, bound to strike but hesitant
lest I swallow me by accident: tail to teeth,
arresting me in tight & tighter cell of my skin.