The worm.
That's what we have here.
A snake without eyeballs.
He's slimy and slimy,
Yet dry if he loses his way
As he wanders across
What we shall call a "sidewalk".
He lives in dirt.
He spends too much time
stressing about his heart condition,
Which is funny, because,
You know.
The stock market is crashing.
The birds are flocking.
The rapists are teething.
The ice cracks oh so slowly
Under my, shall we say, feet.
But where was I?
Ah, yes.
The worm.
Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Randy Conner.
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