Cunning, I discovered
Loss of legs an asset
To intricate motility.
I have little use
For a vulgar hurry.
Coiled upon myself
Into a compactness
No yogi could duplicate
I contemplate nothing.
In this way I imitate
The one perfect wisdom:
That of a stone.
I am a case study
Of war’s ruthless artistry
In fitting means to ends.
Toss me a rat
So I may illustrate my point.
A flicker of my tongue
Scents aromatic mammal.
An automatic hunger
Erects my forward foot.
My slit-pupilled eye
(Superior to yours
In leaking no emotion)
Spots a fool scurry.
Lips that anticipate
With heat-tinged cavities
More than any amorist’s
Lock upon my prey.
The speed of my whip
Through striking to constriction
Outstrips your vision.
I administer an end
That is clean as a comical
Resistance will permit.
So do not be perturbed
If eyes bug with horror
Or involuntary excrement
Stains the seat of pleasure.
Struggles quickly gutter
To amusing spasms;
With death’s perfect limpness
My grip is relaxed.
Nosing the cadaver
Till I come face to face
With this present piece of business,
I am ready to commence.
My orange eyes squint
In utter concentration;
Now I must gather
All my suppleness and strength.
My pink gape opens
At first within bounds
Of a possible capacity
As I engulf the head.
You quietly conjecture
I will gag upon the body.
But far more flexible
Than all your philosophies
In dealing with this entity
My rubber head distends.
In one climactic stretch
I overwhelm the pelvis;
The rest is-down hill
As your expression goes.
The last flaccid inch
Of tail disappears
With a tickle in my maw.
While I must admit to grimacing
At this stage of things
My face is refitted
With one casual yawn.
Once more my expression
Shows not a trace of strain.
With a lump inside my guts
Three times my girth.
You really must acknowledge
I am some bag of tricks.
And my digestive tract
Is efficient to a fault.
Not even the skeleton
Escapes its nether end.
Now I can forget you.
Though I wouldn’t mind a bath.
It eases my digestion
To wallow like Leviathan,
Or one of your women
Bloated with a child.
If need be, I can wait
For another six months.
But I prefer more frequent meals.
If you feed me enough
I can wax into a monster
That will swallow up the world.